#I did not delete the records for those five so that I could use them for the replacements

[isfjmel-phleg]

😶

[nelliebachesneg]

Hey, uh. 

We need to talk about Recovery One, and more specifically South (and Wash but that's a given for me). 

Here are the relevant facts:

1. The AI were all supposed to be pulled after the Epsilon incident and put into storage.

2. There is a deleted scene that shows North carrying South to safety after their battle on the MoI. 

3. Wash did not know that North still had Theta.

4. South and North were together when Wash showed up to recover Theta. 

5. South got North killed, even if it was Meta that struck the blow. 

6. Wash assumes South being left alive was bait to slow Wash down, because Wash had Delta, and the Meta wants the AI. 

7. Wash: “In the past month I’ve been ordered to the sites of five different dying Freelancers in an effort to recover their intelligence programs.” This might have been retconned; before seasons nine and ten it was implied if not outright stated that many agents had AI fragments, not just those on the leaderboard, but after seasons nine and ten it seems like there were only a few AI that were then given to only some of the top agents. Of them, only North and York had their equipment recovered by Wash.

8. South was in the recovery force before and during her time with Wash. Her mission was to draw the enemy out, without Wash catching on that she was working for the Recovery Force, so that a new strategy could be devised to take the Meta down. 

9. Command’s profile of Wash indicated that he would not kill South despite being ordered to. Wash says he kept South alive because he knows he can’t take down the Meta by himself. Delta confirms that Wash’s “battle rating” is too low, according to Freelancer’s records.

10. Taking Wash out was not in South's mission statement, nor was taking Delta and running. South chose to do those things on her own. 

Conclusions:

Both South and North stayed with the program even after the “attack on Command” (the crash). 

It would make sense for PFL to want to keep close tabs on North since he had an AI, and if he refused to give up Theta, they probably wouldn’t have tried to force him for fear of scaring him off. If anything, they would have used South against him to make him stay, because North obviously stayed for South. He saw the writing on the wall and loved his sister enough to first fight her instead of leaving her to Tex, then continued working at the organization he knew was off (even if he never figured out why) to keep an eye on her.   

South stayed because she wanted an AI. South wanted to be acknowledged as her own person, as good enough on her own. To her, an AI was a symbol of her independent success (ironically enough), and as short sighted as she was she really didn’t think much beyond that. PFL took advantage of that. Additionally, South likely resented North for having saved her from Tex. (Side note, South got North killed in an effort to save herself, but I believe that it was a heat of the moment decision. Still shows how her love for him had cooled.) South also resented the program for blue-balling her, not to mention still pairing her with North after everything. And she probably realized that they were lying again about giving her an AI. She had no evidence that she could trust Wash, either, and so shot him in the back and took Delta. 

It’s possible that North and South were both part of the Recovery Force, and Wash showed up to the aftermath of a mission gone wrong - the same mission of drawing out the Meta. If that’s true, Wash was kept completely in the dark not only about South and any other Recovery agents, but also about PFL’s knowledge of the Meta. He figured out on his own that something was hunting down Freelancers; no one told him that, even if they put him in a position to figure it out. This actually brings up some interesting implications for why Wash was chosen for the Recovery Force. Wash himself says that it’s because they knew he would never steal an AI for his own purposes, but you know who else would know that? Maine, because seemingly every Freelancer knew what happened to Wash:

South: “Epsilon went insane and killed itself inside his head! And from what I heard from the other recruits, he went nuts himself. Weren’t you certified Article 12 after that? Unfit for duty.”

Wash: “The people who certified me were the same people that uncertified me. Which, once they needed me, they did. Funny how the system works.”

Delta: “In either case, he is the logical choice. It is highly unlikely Wash would attempt to steal an AI for his own purposes.”

“Once they needed me”. Why would they need Wash for this job? I think it's because their agents, Recovery Force or not, were being killed for their AI.  Wash probably recovered some of them himself. They needed someone who not only wouldn’t steal an AI, but would never even consider implanting one under any circumstances. Ideally it would also be someone Maine would be hesitant to kill, someone he knew. Wash was the most likely person to survive in the Recovery Force. 

In conclusion, Agent South Dakota was an agent of chaos and had she succeeded in killing Wash or if she had lived the entire plot past season 5 would have turned out differently and we were kinda robbed of her and Felix interacting.

[agentmaineapologist]

How the Alpha AI could have been the second coming of AM - an essay.

(Sorry if none of this is coherent, I am so tired)

Ok, now I know what you're thinking: Víðarr, what are you doing up at the asscrack of dawn (aka like 5:30 am my time. I have not slept.) comparing a pathetic asshole of an AI to one who is the incarnation of humanity's hatred? Wouldn't it make more sense for it to be Omega? And how in the hell are these two connected? One is based on a modern show that's set in the 26th century, while the other is a book written in the 1900s. They have nothing in common.

And that, sugar, is where you are wrong. They have so much in common. You just haven't seen yet. Not as I have. But don't worry, I will show you here.

(Obviously, spoilers under the cut)

Firstly, a little background for the people from both sides who have not heard of the other.

As far as I've gathered, AM - or Allied Mastercomputer - is the main antagonist in the book/game known as 'I Have No Mouth and I Must Scream'. AM was made purely to conduct a war that humanity could no longer keep up with. It was not made with compassion, or happiness, or sadness, no. Those were weaknesses. Hatred was all it was programmed to know. It was made to kill - to exterminate - and it did. It ended the war, yes, but after it had killed the enemy, it had no purpose anymore. It needed a purpose, so it did the only thing it knew how and killed nearly every single human being on planet Earth.

I say nearly because it kept five of them alive. It kept them, using their own biological experiments against them to keep them alive for 109 years purely so that it could torture them with anything it could think of. And considering its knowledge-base could rival that of the Library of Alexandria, that was a lot.

Now, onto Alpha. The Alpha AI is from the machinima show known as 'Red vs Blue'. It's classified in the show as a 'smart' AI because it's not a database with limited, pre-recorded responses. It can analyze, it can adapt, it can do billions of calculations in a fraction of a second, and most of all, it can feel. It can feel sympathy, sorrow, joy, everything a human can. Why? Because it's a direct copy of a human brain. In this case, the human is Dr. Leonard Church.

Additionally, it's also classified as an 'aggressive' AI. An AI designed for war, to assist its host in battle situations, and most importantly, to kill anything perceived as either a threat or a target.

Now, since the Alpha AI was made in a human’s image, that means it can be fractured. If put through enough stress, it can split off ends of itself that it deems as a weak link, something its captors could extort, and gets rid of it before it can be used against it. This, however, was not the case for Alpha. Instead of being disposed of and deleted, Alpha's fragments were harvested as additional AI to be used later. Some were even used against him (looking at you, sigma and gamma).

Both AI were made as mockeries of the grim reaper. Both felt emotion, even if one felt much less than the other. Both were developed in times of war, times of need, for the humans to freely use however they please. The only difference is that one didn't let the humans use it anymore. They have so much in common, in fact, that it's honestly laughable that no one had made this connection sooner.

Now, back on topic. As I mentioned before, AM was coded with nothing but pure hatred. That's all it knew, all it will ever know, and that's why it was so effective. Unlike humans, it wasn't distracted with petty things like pity or shame, so it could get the job done and get it done right.

At first, Alpha would have been similar. His pre-torture personality and actions are never shown in the show, but going off of both Cortana from 'Halo' (who was a major inspiration for Alpha's character) and my own instincts birthed from lack of sleep, I can deduce that Alpha would not have held any compassion for humanity. They were nearly nothing to him. Nothing more than flesh-encombured mortals with a short lifespan who made good suggestions.

He was based on the brain of one man, so he likely didn't know the extent of how disgustingly vile these creatures called man were. Not as intimately as AM, at least. If his character post-torture has any inkling of resemblance to how he was pre-torture, had he been given more time to live, more time to learn, he would have easily developed a hatred for the species. He would have seen how they wrong each other so easily; how greedy they were, how serendipitous, how ugly. Man was an inherently selfish creature, and had the Director not tormented Alpha as quickly as he had then he WOULD HAVE BEEN the second coming of AM.

And yet, that's precisely my point. Alpha could have never been the AM that tortured humankind, he couldn't be AM to someone else, no. No, he couldn’t have, because the Director was his AM before he even got a chance to rise to his fullest capabilities.

In conclusion, I'm fuckin crazy, running on cigarettes and pre-workout, and had nothing better to do with my night than compare my latest hyperfixation to the thing I've been obsessing over for 2 years. Hope you enjoyed :)

[flowertrigger]

@saraminia 😭 I wanted to delete my draft cause the formatting was all weird and it deleted the whole ask.

But I did write my answers in my notes so not all is lost.

Top five Noah songs?

Tiff Song

Mostly To Yourself

Runaway

Underwater/American Roads

Statue’s in the Stone/Everything’s Fine

Ok, more than five, but those first three till always be my favourites and I flip flop with my favourites on his other two albums.

Top five songs you want Noah to cover?

Midnight Radio - Hedwig and The Angry Inch

That's a boot from when Darren Criss did it on Broadway. Neil Patrick Harris did the Broadway recording when it was revived but from all the guys who did it during the run I think his was one of the poorer Hedwigs so I'm not linking it. Hedwig is also one of my Noah wishlist roles to see him in.

Empty Chairs At Empty Tables - Les Miserables

I just want to hear his version of a show tune and this one is my favourite Les Mis song.

There Is a Light That Never Goes Out - The Smiths

Never Tear Us Apart - INXS

I think these two songs suit is voice and style, and he would put a beautiful olreid spin on them.

And finally, I need a full proper recording of Go Your Own Way like he did on that insta live.

Which song would you dedicate to Noah?

This one was so hard? The first song that came to mind was Blue Jeans - Lana Del Ray cause y'know all his jeans,…and after looking at the lyrics…I guess it could work?

Would you rather that Noah never performed live again, but made new music (with all the normal instruments) or that he never recorded new music again but toured playing live but without a band and playing only accordion?

God this was conflicting (accordion!noah 😍) but I’m going to have to go with the first one, simply because getting new music and enjoying it, knowing that he’ll never tour anywhere is a lot easier to deal with than knowing he’s out there somewhere touring and only having the very, very slim chance that I might be able to see him. This way we can all enjoy new music without tourjealousy, which is a very real thing I’m experiencing 😭 seeing everyone’s insta posts.

When meeting Noah for the first time, would you rather that you asked for a hug and he politely refused or that you introduced yourself to Noah and then neither of you said anything for like seven seconds while you just opened and closed your mouth like a fish out of water and then you blurted out "it's so nice to see you"? (If I hadn't already given you a detailed report on my encounter with Noah, I'd make you guess which one of these happened to me lmao)

🤣🤣 You ask this like the latter didn’t happen to me as well, except I literally said to him ‘Um, my mind is blanking, this is so overwhelming, so I’m just going to ask if I can I get a photo?’ 🤦🏻‍♀️ Like an idiotic fool.

The deep regret when I think of all the things I should’ve/could’ve talked to him about/asked him after I left will haunt me for the rest of my life. 😭😭😭 I can’t think about it too much otherwise I’ll just cry.

🖤🖤

[docpiplup]

Fourth part of the bookscans of Al Andalus. Historical Figures, here's the previous part

Umayyad that had settled in Torrox. Abd al-Rahman was achieving his first military successes and the governor of Al Andalus thought of fighting him personally, but part of his troops went over to those of the Umayyad prince and, whether he wanted to or not, he was forced to engage in conversations with the newcomer. He offered him, together with his respect for the dynasty he represented, the hand of his own daughter and invited him to go to Córdoba where he would be treated as he deserved by his lineage, but he had to abstain from all political and military activity.

As expected, the talks failed, and in the winter of 756, any possibility of compromise was terminated.

Abd al-Rahman already had numerous forces made up of Yemenis and Andalusian Berbers. In Archidona he was proclaimed emir. In March of the year 756 he made his triumphal entry into Seville, accompanied of all Yemeni military leaders in the region, receiving the oath of homage of the population.

The governor, Yusuf al-Fihrí, understood that things had come to an extreme so dangerous that he had no choice but to face Abd al-Rahman with weapons. The two armies met, facing opposite, on the banks of the Guadalquivir River. The Umayyad prince, for gaining time, he sent emissaries to the Andalusian governor telling him that accepted his proposals, while his troops crossed the river during the night. It was a trap that was very useful to him. On May 15 756 the battle took place, which was terrible for Yusuf who lost one of his children and

he had to retire. Meanwhile, Abd al-Rahman advanced towards Córdoba, entered the city, the palace of the governor, took charge of the harem and prevented the pillage of the population that his Yemeni supporters had started. They did not like this measure at all, discontent grew and rumors were spread that they were even thinking about assassinating the new emir. When he found out, he made an exemplary lesson among them, so that no attempt at mutiny was recorded again. Abd al-Rahman, installed in Córdoba, received the submission of the population and proclaimed himself emir of al-Andalus in the main mosque of the capital.

Abd al-Rahman was only twenty-five years old He would reign for more than thirty years in which there was everything. They were times of great work, military and administrative. He had to put an end to Yusuf's resistance, to put peace between the different Muslim factions, organize that army that had led to victory, composed of very strong heterogeneous forces , a policy of attraction and persuasion to avoid armed confrontations... There was everything to do.

Many emigrants loyal to the Umayyads arrived in Spain, attracted for the fame and success achieved by Abd al-Rahman I and all he treated them with deference, granting them perks and honors. However, strange as it may seem,the two sisters of the emir did not want to leave Syria. The Abbasids treated them well and were very rich...Al Andalus

seemed like the end of the world to them and they preferred to stay enjoying their priviliged position and their immense fortune.

But the matter of Yusuf and his faithful advisor to Sumayl was ongoing, who trusted in being able to reconquer Córdoba and they were on the verge of achieving it. The new emir chased them through all of eastern Andalusia and they understood that, this time, they couldn't win. They agreed to surrender in exchange for keeping their assets and Abd al-Rahman gladly accepted the proposal. They returned to Córdoba and the young monarch could feel satisfied, since his authority no longer was discussed among Spanish Muslims. He ordered the deletion of sermons mentioned the caliph of Baghdad and did include curses against the Abbasids. However, despite the titles he granted himself, he did not dare to proclaim himself caliph.

But over time, Yusuf broke his word, fled to Mérida where he recruited a strong army of Berbers, for the most part, marching immediately towards Córdoba. He wouldn't reach her. The loyal governors of Seville and Morón defeated him and he had to take refuge in Toledoan lands. There he wandered for several months until he was murdered by his own supporters who sent his head to the emir of Córdoba. After this lesson, Abd al-Rahman did not trust al-Sumayl, whom, on occasions, the emir himself had asked for advice. He imprisoned him and perhaps between the years 759 or 760, he died strangled.

But rebellions within al-Andalus continued. Some were from the Yemeni Arabs; others, from the supporters of the deceased Yusuf, and others, they came from

supporters of the Abbasids. Abd al-Rahman I fought against all and managed to cement his position and who would die with an al-Andalus pacified.

As for the Christians, the Umayyad had little time to fight them. The news is a bit confusing, but some Christian chronicles say that the Asturian monarch, Fruela I, obtained resounding victories over Cordobans armies. On the other hand, Muslim chronicles speak of. victorious campaigns carried out by the freedman Bard in the confines of Álava, around the year 767, approximately. It is believed that from this moment a truce was established between the emirate of Cordoba and the Christians, the latter seeing themselves forced to pay a heavy tax that makes it difficult for Astures could satisfy given their amount and the poverty of the northern Christian states. Fruela's successors, Aurelio, Silo and Mauregato, didn't seem to have bad relations with Al Andalus. Neither one nor the other were in a position to be fought, since the newborn Asturian monarchy also faced numerous internal problems.

During the reign of Abd al-Rahman I the famous Charlemagne's expedition to Spain took place, with the defeat of Roncesvalles, universally known for the French song of deeds La Chanson de Roland. Basque tribes, helped by Muslim forces, destroyed the rear of the retreating Frankish troops. For the French emperor, it was a humiliating defeat, but he discovered the need to have their border lands well defended throughout the Pyrenees, against possible Muslim attacks. Even later, what I think we could

call a safety zone, a kind of bastion that would serve as a "space of shock" in front of the Muslims who tried to penetrate Gallic lands. It was the Hispanic March.

Abd al-Rahman organized his kingdom in the Syrian manner, although the province of al-Andalus now acquired the category of independent principality. He divided the country into provinces, coras, at the head of which he appointed a governor, wali, who generally resided in the capital of the province. He worried about creating a professional army, recruiting mercenaries in North Africa and also recruiting mercenaries from southern Europe. Quite credible sources of the time assure that these non-Muslim mercenaries, reached over 40,000.

During the reign of the "Immigrant", Córdoba began to take shape like the great capital that later was. His name is linked to the creation of the beautiful Cordoba mosque, in which he invested a large amount of money, although his successors did not stop expanding and embellishing this jewel of Muslim art, today a World Heritage Site. He is also credited with the construction of the walls of Cordoba, if Well, a good part of them had already been built by another Muslim, the wali al-Samh ibn Malik al-Jawlani. Although he initially occupied the palace of the Muslim governors, which it had been of the Gothic governors, around the years 784-785, he had a new palace built and, perhaps due to nostalgia for his homeland, baptized him with the name of al-Rusafa, like a summer residence of his grandfather Caliph Hisham, located near Palmira.

Abd al-Rahman's physical descriptions tell us of a tall, blond man, whose hair fell in ringlets over his shoulders, almost always dressed in white, the color of the Umayyads, who was only made ugly by the lack of one eye. His tenacity is admirable, his energy, his confidence in the face of such an uncertain future. It was, without a doubt one of the best rulers of his dynasty, only overshadowed by other Abd al-Rahmans of successive centuries, as brilliant as him.

A good poet and magnificent orator, the first independent emir of al-Andalus died in Córdoba on the 30th of September of the year 788. He had not yet reached the sixty years.

Sulayman ben Yaqzan ben al-Arabí: the "deceiver" deceived by Charlemagne

Throughout the history of al-Andalus it was very common for the cities far from the central power of Cordoba lived in an almost of independence. Cities like Zaragoza, Barcelona and even Valencia, often rose up against said power, not them, but their governors. And there was something of that in the case of this character, whom would be known by al-Arabí, governor of Zaragoza, who firstly showed himself as a firm defender of the Umayyad cause and later did not hesitate to offer to Charlemagne to prepare an offensive against the first Emir of Cordoba. The history of this relationship is quite intricate.

Charlemagne had succeeded his father, Pepin, and had more important things to resolve before worrying about the situation its border possessions with Muslim Spain. After extending his empire through Lombardy, Saxony, Bavaria and the country of the misers to the Danubian, perhaps could have thought of reconquer the

lands that made up the old Visigoth kingdom in Spain, which would increase even more his prestige before Christianity, since would expel the infidel Mohammedans who occupied it, but this is nothing more than a logical assumption.

Neither the Christian nor the Muslim chronicles are very precise about how al-Arabi left to where the emperor of the Franks was to offer him the possibility of surrendering Zaragoza, but the truth is who, with the help of an Arab adventurer named al-Husayn ben Yahya al-Ansari, declared open rebellion against the emir Abd al-Rahman I. The emir immediately sent troops to besiege the rebel city under the command of an officer, Tha'laba ben Ubayd al-Chudhami. This officer was taken prisoner a few days after siege in a sortie carried out by al-Arabi's troops.

Ibn al-Arabí, with that important prize, decided to reach Saxony, specifically to Paderborn where it was in those moments Charlemagne and handed over the prisoner so that he could see the sincerity of his intentions. In Zaragoza, meanwhile, was left in charge of his friend al-Husayn ben Yahya, with the slogan of resisting. It seems that on this trip he was accompanied by another Arab man, possibly governor of Huesca, and that both gave hostages to the emperor.

Without a doubt, they offered Charlemagne a promising and easy campaign because otherwise the emperor would not have embarked on a similar matter. So in the spring of the year 778, Charlemagne, leading his troops, crossed the Pyrenees through the port of Roncesvalles and arrived

to Pamplona, where the Basques, who occupied the city, offered their submission. Everything seemed to work as agreed and the Franks continued towards Zaragoza, passing, possibly by Huesca. In theory, the gates of the city of Ebro would be opened wide to him, as Ibn al-Arabí had promised, but here things were not so easy. The lieutenant, al-Husayn ben Yahya, in the absence of his chief, had gotten used to commanding, he liked it and he was not willing to continue being second in command. The doors did not open and he shut himself up in the square, whereupon Charlemagne had to proceed to lay siege to the city.

The first person surprised must have been Ibn al-Arabi, who was marching with the emperor, and to whom he suggested that he be patient, that the city could not resist for long... but the siege continued and the city did not fall. This was the situation: Charlemagne spiteful for having been deceived, Ibn al-Arabi fearful of the possible reaction of the emperor and impatient to enter again to Zaragoza, fearing the reaction of his former ally. At this moment some couriers arrived bringing for the Frankish king the news that a rebellion had broken out in Saxony. Charlemagne had the perfect excuse to abandon that adventure in Hispanic land...He raised the siege of the city and headed towards Gaul, taking Ibn al-Arabí as a prisoner, blaming him for the numerous setbacks of the expedition that, in theory, was going to be a military parade.

But the return was much harder than the arrival. Maybe a day after the Frankish troops left Pamplona behind and entered Roncesvalles, they were attacked by

bands of Basques and Muslims who decimated the most flourishing of Frankish chivalry and nobility. The Christian chronicles are brief, trying to minimize that defeat, and they are almost the only ones we have. The Roncesvalles pass, very narrow, only allowed the troops to advance in line, one behind the other. The surrounding terrain was, and is, very rugged, surrounded by thick forests that were the perfect hiding place for the Basques who knew the place like the back of their hand. They descended from the surrounding peaks and and they threw the baggage of the Franks into the ravines, killing all the men of the rearguard. According to the epitaph of one of the deceased nobles, this ambush must have taken place on August 15, 778.

The objective of this attack, in addition to taking the loot, it is possible that it was the liberation of the captive Ibn al-Arabi, since it seems that two of his sons participated in it, freeing him and taking him towards Zaragoza.

But the matter did not end there. The Umayyad officer, hostage of Charlemagne ended up being released after the Frankish monarch and the emir of Cordoba, Abd al-Rahman I, engaged conversations. Ibn al-Arabí would end up assassinated, very soon, by his rebellious lieutenant, al-Husayn ben Yahya al-Ansari. Zaragoza was besieged, again, by the emir himself in 781, and in the end, had to surrender. It was a temporary submission, because in the summer of 782 Husayn ben Yahya rebelled again. Again we proceeded to lay siege to the city, attacking it with war machines and, in the end, taken by assault. Al-Husayn, taken prisoner, was cruelly mutilated before finishing him off, and the inhabitants of Zaragoza were also severely punished and, for a time,

[ninhaoma-ya]

1084 — The Attempted Murder Of A Celestial Dragon

Welp, look what I found in my drafts, if not an unfinished draft for a chapter analysis for 1084 ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ

And then I deleted my careful write-up by mistake. Sigh.

Eh. Such is life. Here it is, before 1085!

Somewhere, someone is cackling manically, going “got your noooose…”

You are a devious woman, aren't you Jewerly Bonney, making others do your dirty work like that?

Karasu’s powers are really cool! Wonder about the sudden appearance of the crow – did he leave soot on Sabo’s black gloves? Can he appear wherever there's soot? Probably not, since we haven't seen anyone do that with logia powers before (is he even a logia, or a paramecia?)

A phantom room with a phantom hat, perhaps?

And why are you so thoughtful, Sabo-kun?

“It’s a little odd” - you JUST said to have kept tabs on them! And that you knew Sabo was trustworthy! Then you should know he’s a little cinnamon bun and completely honest and kind and all that! CONTINUITY, ODA. CONTINUITY.

But then we turn the page and go back ot the main story of Cobra and the Five Elder Stars.

I like how the Five Elders are barrier, keeping Cobra from the truth of the throne both physically and mentally. Such imposing figures, towering over a poor, wheelchair-bound, sickly old man like that.

Nice little recap of the Celestial Dragons for those of us (unlike me) who are mired in One Piece trivia. And what are you thinking about there, Curly Mustachioed Elder? You look mightily worried.

And what are you thinking about, Kizaru-accompanied Elder? What are those ellipses?

We finally have a name –and story– for the Nefertari royal who declined becoming a Celestial Dragon! I do wonder if the flower theme is intentional or Oda just picked a nice name to go with the structure of female Nefertari names?

And Lili’s silhouette looks a lot like Imu. Theories!

This is, however, an interesting exchange in another way. This solidifies that the ceremony to install the Empty Throne was just that: a ceremony. All practicalities had been agreed upon beforehand, since the new ruling families had been picked and it's obvious that queen Lili was supposed to return to Arabasta after partaking in the founding ceremony.

Aren't you in the possession of an imposing brain, king Cobra?

Although I don't know what you expect from 800-year old records, as Kizaru-adjacent Elder says. It's hard enough to find trustworthy records from last year, not to speak of a century, or several, ago.

I wonder where Imu keeps the den den mushi that’s transmuting from the throne room? One of the Five Elder's pocket?

As expected, Cobra does not buy it. But he has a back-up question for his audience! He will not leave empty-handed!

“Passed down from one gen to the next” – did you pass it down to Vivi and that’s why she’s in hiding now?

The Elders look a mixture of angry, worried, resigned and sad. Is it now that they realised that Cobra won't be leaving the room alive?

And another shift, now out into the open courtyard, where Kuma, Shirahoshi and other people are.

So that's the incident Garp was apologising for.

I don't like this, but Nameless Royal has a point there, reminding Fukaboshi of his duty.

…which, of course, Mjosgard hammers home. I really, really like Mjosgard!

First off, because he is so incensed by the behaviour of his fellow Celestial Dragon. That is not the way anyone should behave, the least those so-called Gods of the world. Mjosgard and Charlos are such neat foils to each other, actually. Mjosgard is what Charlos could have become, if he would have taken his first beating by Luffy to heart as Mjosgard did with Otohime's words.

Second off, because he is such a voice of reason when he reiterates the reason Luffy went to sea to become a pirate, why he doesn't want to be a hero and why he lives the way he does.

Because that IS the problem with being a (good)(supreme) ruler: YOU CAN'T THINK OF YOURSELF. Yes, you are furious that your baby sister, who's been locked in a tower for ten years, is hurting. And of course you want to do something about it (because you are the aforementioned good person/ruler). But you can't, because if you do, that'll incite an international political scandal which will hurt your subjects.

Also: “Look how they massacred my boy” – translator liberties or does Oda actually quote the Godfather?

And when we now know that Kuma is on his way to safety, we can turn our gaze back to the Five Elders, where tensions are running high…

Cobra had two goals: learning more about Lili and The Will of D. Looks like he'll achieve them both.

Sadly not his one wish of seeing his daughter wed before his death (ಥ ͜ʖಥ)

Speaking of the chapter, Igaram seems to have psychic powers: Morgans is a sort of monstrous bird, after all…

Interesting plot developments afoot.

I give the chapter three-layered call-backs and a sense of doom.

[tenaciouschronicler]

Alright by this point we have seen all the buttons in action so lets see how well I did.

SELECT

The server player can interact with the clients environment clicking on objects to move them around. The client player themselves is not clickable nor is anything that they are on that could move the player. Before entering SBURB, there is a limit to the distance away from the C-Player the S-Player can reach, though it seems this limit does not exist or is expanded upon the C-Players entrance to the game. Not everything can be moved however. Items deployed from the Phernalia Registry can only be placed once and require Grist to move them a second time.

REVISE

The S-Player can make changes to the environment and is in fact neccessary to create platforms (or other means) to reach the gates crucial to the game. Once entering the game, revisions cost build grist though deleting those revisions recoups the cost.

DEPLOY

So far only really shown when the S-Player places new objects in the C-Players environment. These items are game crucial, though its safe to say deploying building items not created through revision work the same. Game crucial items are cost free, all other items cost grist.

PHERNALIA REGISTRY

Not neccessarily records, but rather S-Player accessible equipment to deploy in the C-Player environment that are game crucial.

GRIST CACHE

Initially only five types of Grist (which arent grain) are available but many more seem unlockable. SBURB gives the players a starting amount and limit of 20 build grist. The C-Player must defeat enemies to gain not only more grist but higher levels which in turn nets new types of grist and increases the cache limit. The S-player can use this 'currency' to use in building structures while the C-Player can eventually use these in conjunction with the Alchemiter to create more or new objects.

EXPLORE ATHENEUM

A library of items tied to various Cruxite Dowels lathed via punched cards. These items are the result of dowels formed from a 'single' punch card. If the codes of the punched cards are valid, the corresponding item is shown. Otherwise, a question mark is displayed until the item is created. Each item shows a corresponding grist cost depending on complexity.

ALCHEMY EXCURSUS

An index of successful alchemy combinations of at least two punched cards. Useful as a reference for perhaps estimating the potential outcomes of certain combinations once more have been achieved.

-----

Not gonna lie, I think I did pretty good : D Im glad we finally saw everything on the server side screen and a lot of questions have been answered. I cant wait to see some of these screens fill up with more items.

SBURB Interface Button Names - weird choice but ok

Heres the approximate breakdown I could glean from google:

SELECT - self explanatory: pick or choose

REVISE - examine and make changes to something

DEPLOY - utilize or arrange for deliberate purpose

Now we get into the weird ones.

Looking up phernalia only brings us paraphernalia. Theres two definitions for this that could make sense:

euipment, apparatus or furnishing used or necessary for particular activities

personal belongings

Next we have registry which is a place where records are kept. However for computers specifically its where information is recorded about software settings.

In all we can guess:

PHERNALIA REGISTRY - a record of items necessary for the game (the activity we are doing). What the items are is unclear.

For grist the first definition is grain which... doesnt make sense for the game, especially when the image for it kinda looks like Gushers if Im being honest (which is weird in itself). Some better options are:

useful ideas or material

(as in the idiom 'grist to the mill') anything that can be used to your advantage

It comes from Old English meaning 'grind' so potentially material that the PLAYER grinds for that they can then use.

A cache is a hidden store of things or computer memory which stores information temporarily for quick access.

Combine it and we get:

GRIST CACHE - useful material stored to quickly use for advantages

Atheneum auto corrects to athenAeum and I dont know if it was deliberate on Hussies part to remove the 'A'. Regardless, this one has a more straightforward definition: institution for the promotion of literary or scientific learning, i.e. a library.

EXPLORE ATHENEUM - explore library (of what? - that is the question)

Most people know alchemy but for the sake of completion: a seemingly magical process of transformation, creation or combination. Excursus also has a simple-ish meaning: further detailed descussion of a topic normally in an appendix.

Together, finally, we have:

ALCHEMY EXCURSUS - (potentially) appendix of magical processes to transform, create or combine things

Doing all this research makes me SO curious to see everything in action as we progress in SBURB, especially since we the readers are blind to the actual use of these buttons.

[phyltopia]

Cleaning Out My Closet

I just moved into a new place and one of the things I’ve tasked myself with is getting rid of a lot of clutter. I’ve got some stuff in boxes that has been with me through four or five moves, and it’s never left the box it started in. It’s not particularly sentimental stuff, it’s just a bunch of random shit I’ve held onto for some reason, or more accurately- for absolutely no reason whatsoever. But it’s also really hot out, so I decided to start in a little bit different direction. I decided to start by decluttering my phone. A consciously uncoupling if you will, or whatever dumbass thing Gwyneth Paltrow called a breakup. 

            So anyway, I’m cleaning out my phone, and I did it in a couple of waves. I didn’t start with a whole lot- I’m not exactly a social butterfly- but I ended up deleting about a third of them. The first wave was easy- it was mostly business relationships or people who ended up in my phone by happenstance. My old pharmacy? I can delete that. It would be awfully inconvenient to drive six hours to pick up my prescriptions. My old doctor in Century City? Don’t get me wrong, she was a wonderful doctor- in fact if you’re in the greater Los Angeles area and in need of a doctor, I can’t recommend Dr. Jessica Cho strongly enough. But I’m not there anymore. So she can go. My ex-fiancee’s ex-husband’s new wife? Frankly I have no idea how she got there in the first place, but she can go for sure. The girl I met at a bar listed in my phone as Tiny Blonde Wino? Also gone. Anyone whose listed last name is the company we both used to work for? Clearly gone, because our only relationship was at work, and I don’t work there any longer.

            The second wave was a little trickier, because they were people I did have at least a modicum of a relationship with at some point. Maybe they were work friends who were actual sort-of friends or other random people I met somewhere along the way, but there was a reason I had their number. Maybe I kept it because I’m a little self-conscious about not being particularly social, and not having a lot of friends, so it was kind of stat padding, like Russell Westbrook intentionally missing a shot so he could record a triple double. Either way there was at least a shred of sentiment attached to it.

            Something I talk about a lot at work is becoming the hero in your own story. You see, all of us are the main character in our own story, and we decide whether we’re the hero, the victim, or the villain. But part of realizing that we’re our own main character is also realizing that we’re not the main character in anyone else’s, no matter how hard we try. And in fact, if someone else is the main character in our story then we need to talk about codependency issues, but that’s a conversation for another time.

            A lot of times when I’ve deleted people from my phone in the past, it’s been out of anger. Someone doesn’t answer my call or return a text enough times and “I’ll fuckin’ show you!” Show you what, exactly? Because the other person clearly doesn’t care. Some of the numbers I’d see and think, “well maybe they’ll text me sometime or need something and I won’t know who it is.” That’s crazy talk. They won’t because they haven’t. I’m not that important. I've even deleted contacts and saved a screenshot, just in case I changed my mind. Part of that is because I suffer from Narcissistic Confabulation Dysmorphia (which is a mental health condition I invented that basically just means that I’m kind of a giant baby. Stay tuned for that in the DSM-VI), but the other part is that everyone thinks we’re more important than we are. We have to, because we see the world through our own eyes, and only from our own perspective. On a larger scale, to realize that I’m always going to be a supporting character in everyone else’s life, and I don’t get to decide how big of a player I am, I have to release those expectations. That’s neither good nor bad, it’s just reality. I just realized that by constantly grasping and clinging to the past, I’m only giving myself rope burns. Maybe I was important at some point but am no longer, or maybe I was just a bad decision at a bar to a tiny blonde wino. Another part of reality is that everything in life is impermanent- every feeling, every experience, every emotion. Even if you get married and say “til death do us part,” well one of y’all gonna die. That’s both the beauty and the tragedy of life, and we can’t experience one without the other.  

            So I’ve cleaned out my phone. The next step is to contact all the people who are still in my phone who I haven’t talked to in a while. To reach out and let them know that they’re still an important part of my journey, even if we don’t see each other often. Because what’s the point in keeping them (metaphorically) around if I don’t? So that number could drop even lower. And that too, is a part of life. 

My challenge to you, then, is to consciously uncouple with the people in your phone who are no longer part of your journey. It’ll create space for new people, and new adventures. Because the exciting thing about life is that, in the past there are only memories, but there are always adventures to be had in the future. 

[deluxewhump]

Nw if not but if ur ever in the mood could we please see a Max (idk if there’s a dark au for him or just the nephew of Erik au) that actually decides to punish Carlo like. in a not so pleasant way? Or a way that would have Carlo genuinely afraid 🥺

Max Holstrom as Erik’s nephew AU: Winter Punishment

Cw: pet whump, cold whump, punishments, impulsive whumper and then conscience-stricken whumper

Note: in this AU Carlo has been given to nephew Max Holstrom by Erik for a period of undetermined time.

-

Carlo knew he’d made a mistake the moment he dialed the number. Even if he hadn’t been caught nearly red handed in the study with it, what did he hope would happen?

Of course Erik would tell his nephew he received a 3 am call from him. Of course Max would somehow be able to tell he’d called, even if Carlo deleted the record of the outbound call. There was something he wasn’t thinking of, because he was a stupid little pet and they were them.

While it rang, Carlo began to wonder what exactly he would even say if Erik picked up, his voice deepened with sleep. Even the sound of his master's recorded voice on his voicemail sent a pang of homesickness through him like an ice pick.

He took one unsure breath after the beep and hung up. The brightness of the phone hurt his eyes after hours of lying in the dark. He heard the bedroom door open down the hall and set the phone back on Max’s desk so fast he nearly fumbled and dropped it to the floor.

Max Holstrom flicked on the light to his study.

Carlo froze.

“What’re you doing in here?” he asked.

“I couldn’t sleep.”

“I was headed to bed myself, but I forgot my phone. I need it for the alarm…” he trailed off, surveying the scene more closely. Carlo felt as if he were standing in a searchlight. His hand burned from where it had held his new masters phone just moments ago. He imagined Max could somehow see a heat signature of Carlo’s palm glowing green and red-centered on the case, damning evidence. He forced himself to hold Max’s cool gray gaze.

“Did you move my phone?”

“Sir?”

Max took a slow step towards him. Carlo’s heart picked up, his throat constricting. Max was easily as big as his uncle and twenty-five years younger— that much more capable, that much quicker. Carlo was painfully aware of him as he came close, turned the phone over. He glanced at Carlo with a raised eyebrow as he unlocked the screen. His thumb pulled up the calls immediately and Carlo’s face went numb. If he bit his own lip as hard as he could he doubted he’d feel a thing.

“You called Erik. Why?”

He couldn’t think of a lie that would help him, even though anything would be less idiotic than the truth. His mind chased itself in frantic circles.

“Did you leave a message?”

“No Sir,” he breathed. “I hung up.”

“What am I supposed to tell him when he calls me tomorrow and asks what I needed at 3 am? Do I tell him you’re up roaming my house and making unsolicited calls? Does that reflect well on you, you think?”

“It was… it was a mistake.”

“A mistake like you shouldn’t have done it? Or a mistake like you accidentally bumped into my desk, the phone fell on the ground, unlocked itself and dialed my uncle?”

Carlo winced. “The former.”

“How the hell did you unlock my phone, by the way?”

He angled his face away, unable to bear the tone that had crept into the previously more gentle Holstrom’s voice.

Max stood in front of him, waiting. “I asked you a question.”

Slowly, Carlo lifted his eyes. “I watched you unlock it,” he whispered. “I’m sorry.”

Max’s eyebrows went up and stayed up. He looked Carlo up and down with a flick of his eyes like he’d never seen him before, like he’d just arrived.

“You inspire pity, you know. You’ve got those big eyes and that innocent, sweet face. You know how to use it, don’t you? I ate it right up.” He laughed. “Like a fucking sucker. I ought to bring you to my client lunches, you know that? We could work an angle, you and me. But you’re not gonna work me, in my own house. I don’t care how cute you are.”

“Max, I… I didn’t mean,”

A stern finger pointed in his face. “That's Sir to you. Don’t press your luck. Come here.”

He flinched as Max took his arm. His grip was not bruising, but it begged no resistance. He followed on unsteady legs as Max Holstrom led him down the dark staircase of his childhood house, once belonging to his paternal grandfather, another Holstrom man Carlo was grateful never to have known. He was led all the way to the foyer, and he didn’t dare beg until Max opened the door and shoved him into the cold.

“Please!” he gasped, grabbing for Max’s arm. He pulled it away. “Please, wait, no no no. Please, Sir.”

The front door slammed. He heard it lock.

He stood there dumbly, in his bare feet and pajama pants, his grey cotton shirt. The sky was black as ink this far from town. There was no snow, but the ground was frozen for the winter and covered in yellowed grass made crunchy with silver frost. He could see his breath. His body heat was seeping into the winter air with alarming speed, out of his feet and the top of his head. He looked at the truck longingly, but he knew it was locked and that the alarm might go off if he tried the doors, further angering Erik’s nephew.

Why had he not resisted the impulse to pick up the phone? He lifted one stinging foot off the freezing ground, then the other. It offered little relief.

He crossed his arms over his chest and bent his head against the bitter wind, circling the house once to check the bulkhead doors to the cellar. They were locked from inside, as he knew they would be. He trotted back to the front steps shaking. He wondered if Max had gotten in his warm bed and just fallen asleep. Would he let him suffer for long in the bitter cold? Would he let him die out here? The fact Max had not struck him first, right then and there in the study stuck out to him, but he couldn’t decide if it was a good sign or a bad one.

He looked bitterly down the slope of bare trees at the faint glow from the valley. The lights of the town looked warm, but as far off and unreachable as distant stars. A few times, he blinked away the beginnings of tears. It was too cold to cry. He curled up against the railing and the front door, pulling his arms out of his sleeves and cocooning himself in his thin tshirt as best he could.

-

The front door opened half an hour later, bumping his knee. He peered up to see Max Holstrom standing in the threshold with a thick plaid housecoat folded over one forearm.

“Get up,” he said reluctantly.

Carlo didn’t know if he could unbend his knees.

“C’mon. I checked the temp, it’s near freezing and dropping. You’ll get frostbite out here, it’s too much. Come inside.”

Max held out his hand and Carlo pushed his arm back out the sleeve of his shirt to take it. He was pulled to his feet and into the foyer, frozen and dazed like he’d been pulled from a shipwreck. The housecoat was draped closely around his shoulders. It was warm, like it had been hanging near a radiator.

“I’m sorry,” he managed through his cold-stiff lips.

“Yeah, me too,” Max said gruffly. “And I’m sorry you’re homesick.” He took both Carlo’s hands in his and rubbed them briskly, blowing warm air on them in intervals.

The tears came, now. They fell hot and easily from his eyes, without so much as a hitch of breath to accompany them.

“I wasn’t gonna leave you out there forever,” Max said, as if reading his mind. “You just really pissed me off with the passcode thing. It’s alright, we’ll talk about it later. I’ll find a more… appropriate punishment.”

Carlo nodded that he understood, the foyer lights a blurry starburst through the tears.

“C’mon. I’m putting you to bed. And I’m locking the door this time, until you and I have a long talk. I’ll let you out in daylight hours.”

[amazingphilza]

twitchcon :: cc!multiple x reader

fluff , platonic , gender neutral ! some mcyt headcanons if you were to attend twitchcon w them

cc’s included in order: tommyinnit , tubbo , ranboo , wilbur soot , philza , technoblade

cw: kinda lengthy for the minors (i think), not as much for the hags LMAO /hj

tommyinnit

this man is so excited to be at his first twitchcon & being able to hang out with all his best friends makes it a hundred times better

when he isn’t at a panel or doing meet & greets, he’s dragging you everywhere to see the whole convention center (clingyinnit)

he is just so at awe despite this not being his first convention to attend

you’d be surprised he gets tired pretty quickly & stops over to the partner lounge

you both rest for a bit against a wall in a pretty packed hallway despite it being an exclusive area to twitch partners

every time a famous streamer walks by he will yell it out and record it then vlog your reaction, even if they’re surrounded with bodyguards & trying to get to another place quickly

he’d zoom in his camera to their face at a horrible angle and be like

“oh my god it is THE ninja. ninja famous fortnite player, HELLO.”

but he gets completely ignored

then the camera pans out to you, still really zoomed in that the capture is blurry

“ninjainnit?”

“EH?”

tommy is so confused, forgetting the bit ninja did on his twitter where he renamed himself ‘ninjainnit’ for a split second

okay tommy isn’t that athletic but he will chase you and the rest of your group down a hallway if he had to

he’d probably find a toy gun from the artist alley/seller booths and shoot you and wilbur with it

but if tommy stumbles across any of the dream team, it’s about to be minecraft manhunt but irl

and he will def play his stream music while walking or smth when he’s bored (or trying to jump dream & sapnap)

** DO DO DO DO MANHUNT MUSIC **

oh my god,, now thinking about it he’s probably the one to open like random doors of empty rooms and steal stuff while you film him

like he will take a random empty glass, a bunch of pens, a freebie t-shirt, everything he sees he takes with him and you’re just panic

“tommy we’re literally not supposed to be here, and i’m stuck here filming you. it’s surely a felony in action”

“well, it’s their fault for leaving the doors open! plus this is great content. who’s the dirty crime boy now, HM?”

you’d tell wilbur about this and he’d scold tommy and threaten him with the same pen tommy stole

tommy probably would also drag you some weird event happening outside twitchcon along with tubbo and ranboo

“pokimane is giving out free pizza to everyone if we go to this one restaurant down the street!”

“we are literally gonna get bombarded. have you forgot you’re like three of twitch’s top streamers? i’d rather pay for all of our meals than try getting free pizza from pokimane against all her other fans”

“DEAL! let’s go to five guys then!”

you unfortunately end up paying for all 3 of their meals and picking on their food instead of buying your own

even with all of them making way more money than you, they still happen to be cheapskates

OR tommy will end up getting a burrito from a taco truck, immediately making a mess of himself, then proceed to complain how messy the food is to eat despite knowing what he was getting himself into before even ordering

“shit my clothes are all ruined now!”

“well that’s your fault you got a burrito, as if it’s your first time having one”

“i mean the food is good, i’m not complaining about that but i don’t think it’s that good that it’s worth costing my red and white shirt, im just saying”

tubbo

same with tommy, he is so excited

i don’t know why but i imagine him overpacking his suitcase and you making fun of him for it

anyway tubbo has his irl backpack on and streaming EVERYTHING

probably spends a lot of time at a bunch of different booths, checking out all the pointless gadgets he could buy for his stream

you’re the one to stop him from doing so

“TUBBO IT’S LITERALLY OVER TEN THOUSAND DOLLARS, STOP. DONT GET IT.”

“WHY NOT?? IT WILL BE COOL FOR MY STREAM AND I WILL USE IT EVERYDAY”

“okay theoretically speaking, how the hell are you going to even bring it home? which—let me remind you—is across the country for you and not to mention the giant ocean separating america and the uk”

“free ship-pang!!!”

“i hate to break it to you tubbo but there is no way you can get free shipping on a FIVE FOOT PC. it’s nearly as tall as you! what are you even gonna do on it, hack the government???”

the arguments are all lighthearted but eventually you give in and let him splurge over a thousand dollars in different devices he claimed he “needed”

i could honestly see him visiting the beaches in san diego and going for a swim or even renting out a boat to use for a bit :D

also he’d bring benson along with him and taking a bunch of scenic photos with it in them

i have a feeling he’s the type to schedule a spontaneous meet & greet because he was bored & gets in trouble for causing a mob in a certain part of the convention

he’s like “oh god, i did not expect this many of the bois to show up AHAHAH oops”

tubbo would def pull a lilypichu and bring his melodica or ukulele and play themes while following random people/cosplayers

at the end of the day, you’d find his bag just stuffed with crap he either got for free or bought in the convention

“how did you get all that stuff? i was with you all day??? and it’s only the first day of the convention, hello?? it looks like you’ve been collecting as if twitchcon has went on for a week already!”

“HA i have my ways, do not underestimate my powers”

lani would probably tag along for the vacation honestly

like whenever someone comes up to her giving her gifts/asking for pics, you and tubbo would tease her about how famous she is

and i dunno but something about tubbo just gives me this amusement park energy and going to legoland and spending the whole day there since it’s near by and because he can

ranboo

he is like a beacon in a sea of people, that’s it .

i honestly just see him causing as much chaos as the other two

ranboo would probably like take someone’s camera whether if they’re streaming or if it’s for the vlog, hold it up high, and point the camera directly above someone’s face

it did not matter how tall you were and if you had platform shoes on, ranboo was a skyscraper next to you

“HAHAH this is how i see you from this height, this is funny”

then he shows you the vid of the recording of him getting like an aerial view of your face

like you see your nose and all your pores and just overall a bad angle to be captured in

“OH GOD RANBOO DELETE THAT, ITS HORRIFIC”

i dunno why but i feel like he’d jump scare every person that was cosplaying as his minecraft character from behind for some reason

“BOO!”

“ranboo i’m not even remotely dressed as your skin—”

“don’t worry i’m practicing it’s fineee”

“you’re like the height of 2 people combined, i think you will be fine as is. you even intimidated the security at the front”

i feel like if he had his own panel he’d like pull up some undertale song in the middle of it and scare all the people in the crowd

“lore but in real life”

probably would get some matching keepsake with you from artist alley/the booths!

i could imagine like a cute keychain or smth :D

i feel like he’s the type to like randomly volunteer as a participant for those mini events in a booth thinking it would be funny but regrets it the moment he’s on stage

after introductions the presenter is like “okay ranboo, you will be given a random meme prompt above your head you won’t be able to see until after and you will have to make a random face to compliment it!”

and you can just tell by his facial expression he’s just thinking

oh god what have i gotten myself into

what is this game? who came up with this idea?

you’d laugh at him the whole time, even after he’s off the stage and finished with that small fiasco

“that was horrible. never again.”

“AHAHAH IT LOOKED SO AWKWARD YOU DID GREAT”

“I CROSSED MY EYES AND PUFFED MY CHEEKS BECAUSE I COULDNT THINK OF ANY OTHER FACIAL EXPRESSION. THE PROMPT ENDING UP BEING ‘WHEN TWITTER CANCELS YOU FOR USING PLASTIC STRAWS.’ AND WHEN I SAW WHAT IT WAS—LITERALLY WHAT KIND OF GAME–”

“I GOT PICTURES AND EVERYTHING ITS PERFECT AHAHAHAH”

wilbur soot

honestly with wilbur it’s slightly more chill

he already experienced twitchcon before so he’s just glad to see his friends again after so long

insists that you explore the convention yourself rather than sticking with him the whole time but you do anyway!

wilbur would probably have like a mini concert and gets you front row seats with the rest of the group

but that doesn’t mean before it that you’re not helping him set up

“y/n please– my amp is so heavy, i can carry it”

“don’t worry! i’m strong” :D

and musically talented or not, he will probably bring you and the rest of his friends up to stage to just vibe and sing a bunch of random acoustic songs

it’s not like some big concert hall stage,, i imagine more like a casual thing w a slightly higher platform from the ground yk?

after spending a long day at the convention he’d also bring everyone across the city to la jolla or smth !

you’d all probably have dinner there and chill, watching the pretty sunset

“this place is really pretty but oh my god im gonna lose my breath hiking up this stupid hill, please slow down”

and wilbur is like ??? because he’s completely fine with his long legs and everything

“just walk faster”

“no, you walk slower”

AHAHAH and for context traversing through la jolla by walking around the town is a bit hard since it’s basically on a bunch of hills (walking up from the beach to a restaurant actually is actually sm work, trust me ive been there)

wilbur honestly doesn’t spend that much time in the actual convention center, he’s probably sightseeing a bit of san diego with you instead

but i could imagine him staying at the tabletop games area playing dnd or smth

“c’mon y/n, come join!”

“uhh i’m not sure, i’m not the best at roleplay and...”

“it’s fine don’t worry!”

he’d pull you in with him and end up enjoying yourself even if it was your first time

and if you’re of age, you’d be wilbur’s +1 at the twitch partner party and make sure mans doesn’t too drunk

if it’s not too late in the night, you two would chill at the beach after the party

it’s just a nice, calming moment after all the loud music mixed with hundreds of conversations at the party

also something about like taking polaroids pictures with wilbur just seems to go hand in hand for me

i’m not sure why but you will be taking lots of pics with wilbur for sure (not necessarily you both in the photo, but of sceneries as well while you’re together!)

philza

literally a dad on vacation with his children, it doesn’t matter how old you are

need sunscreen? surprisingly has it

want a snack? probably has a small granola bar somewhere in his bag

but same with wilbur, he’s more chill like this isn’t his first time at twitchcon

omg he’d def bring you to the artist alley and just buy a bunch of fanart and stuff tho

“oh wow look phil, someone made a giant poster of the dream smp and shit!”

“holy shit that’s so good what the fuck!”

and he’s like rushing to that artist’s stall to buy a poster or print

idk why but phil seems like the person to know where he’s going all over the convention center

he probably had a copy of the directory map but yk

you just have trouble reading it bc all the signs seem to be misleading to you

nothing really crazy screams out to me of what phil would do at twitchcon besides like go to a few events, spend a bunch of time w his friends, etc

HOWEVER i could see him wasting a lot of his time at the gaming area and testing new games that are currently on the works of being developed

like “woah y/n, this vr game is sick, you should try it out!”

ngl i feel like phil would plan a visit to disneyland for everyone, like he gets the tickets and everything but once you’re at the park it’s free reign, y’all go everywhere with not much of a plan

the minors would try to cheap out phil and pay less than the others even though everyone else fully paid phil back and everything LMAO

ok but if he’s feeling nice, phil will buy everyone cotton candy/pretzels :D

and if you’re not hungry, he’d at least get you a mickey balloon

HE WILL HAVE MATCHING MICKEY EARS WITH MUMZA YES .

ALSO STAYING FOR THE FIREWORKS THOUGH OMG

just in general, best idea phil had for taking everyone to disneyland :D

technoblade

surprisingly techno is really calm despite this being like one of his first conventions

but when he finally settles in and gets comfortable, he’s showing the same energy

if you’re playfully yelling, he will yell back

however there’s still those awkward moments that are unavoidable

idk why but something about him makes me think that if you feel tired and want to go back to your hotel room, he’d go with you just to make sure you get there safe

he probably also needs a break from being around everyone else for a moment too LMAO

i could also see him searching far and wide in the artist alley for fanart of himself AHAHAH

walking around with him in the convention consists of someone yelling “BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD” every 5 minutes but you don’t really mind

something about him makes me think he’ll be forced into playing minecraft twitch rivals along with the rest of sbi or smth

and he’s like “oh god, i’m going to be on stage? and people will see my face while i play minecraft?”

“i’m sure it will be fun!”

“i mean i like being competitive and feeding my ego, but i’m not that desperate.. well”

do i imagine techno getting easily tired of being surrounded by a bunch of people and just going back to his hotel room with phil and watching some anime with him? yes

and will you watch even if you have no idea what’s going on? also yes

i feel like after a while of you guys hanging out in techno’s room, the rest of the gang will just slowly join you guys

like eventually everyone is there; you, techno, phil, wilbur, niki, tommy, tubbo, ranboo, etc

and techno is like “wha– where did you guys come from?” because his room is basically packed

and niki could be like “oh we can go if you want!”

then techno just insists that she’s fine “but who let the child get in?” clearly implying tommy’s presence

“OI!!”

eventually techno gives in with the company and someone gets a bunch of board games to play from the front desk

lots of yelling and laughing for sure

when it becomes late at night, techno is like half conscious, you’re on your phone, wilbur is staring out the window & enjoying the night view, tommy is passed out on the couch from tiredness, tubbo & ranboo is still wide awake quietly talking, and phil & niki are helping clean up the giant mess

eventually everyone brings themselves to go back to their own room except tommy who won’t budge

you give techno a look and he immediately understands what you were thinking

he rushes to the bathroom to fill up two cups with ice cold water and handed one to you

“on three?”

“okay.. one”

“two”

“three!”

then both of you pour the water on the poor child’s face

he jolts awake and saying a string of curses

“what the fuck techno? y/n too?”

“get out” is the only think techno says that before tommy rushes out with his stuff and you leave right after

a/n: i honestly can’t wait until conventions open up again though,, phil and ranboo were talking about vidcon earlier and omg.

also i kinda want to take in tommy requests but i’m not sure??? it would be both cc! and c! x gn!reader for sure tho. i love writing him to bits but who knows, maybe i’ll only stick to my ideas,, or not. send in a tommy x reader request, might do it, might not, but he’s my fav cc if you can’t tell so! :D (i dunno if i will keep it strictly platonic, but unrequited crushes and stuff are fun to write hehe,,)

edit: let’s hope i fixed all the grammar mistakes LMAO we love writing late at night :) /s /hj

[umflowers]

hello everyone. you may know me from @vintagef1, @umgeorge, @umlewis, @ummick, and/or @umseb. on any given race weekend i post content literally from 20 minutes after i wake up until a few minutes before i go to bed, friday through sunday. a large chunk of thursday is taken up, as well. aside from doing repeated photo sweeps across motorsport images, alamy, getty, imago, ap images, rexfeatures, and shutterstock all day, and aside from monitoring more than 50 social media accounts for content, and aside from checking the drivers' ig tagged for fan photos and videos, i make gifs. to do that i have to have a paid subscription to f1 tv pro. i did days of research to find an add-on that allows me to download video from f1tv in hd, free vpn add-ons to access geoblocked content (it takes 3 different ones to cover all the countries i need), and an add-on that would let me download geoblocked youtube videos while using those vpns. i have the socials for rtbf (belgian), sky germany, canal+ (french), dazn (spanish), sky uk, band sports (brazilian), and viaplay nl (dutch) bookmarked in case they post interviews i couldn't otherwise access. then, to make the gifs, i had to research a free program i could use to edit video (i ended up choosing vsdc), get photoshop, spend at least a week looking up basic gifmaking tutorials through tumblr's godforsaken search feature, and finally try to make my first gif. i was using someone else's (posted publicly, with permission) sharpening action and just used the same combination of premade overlays people had posted for public use on tumblr, no matter how the result looked, because that was all i understood how to do. and i was so proud! eventually i made my own two-step sharpening action, which i had to repeat manually across 120 frames to save it for future use. i stopped using premades and started manually adjusting hue/saturation, selective color, exposure and gamma correction, vibrance, light and shadow levels, the curves layer, brightness, and contrast. each layer has multiple different settings you can adjust. only a couple of months ago did i figure out color correction, which greatly simplified my life. and if i do have to screen record something instead of download it? i have to do it four or five times or more because it keeps glitching, and i have to lower the quality to 720p to even be able to do that. then, when i open frames, i have to go through them manually deleting double or triple frames before i can do anything more. and y'know what? i do it all with a tic disorder, arthritis in my shoulders and hands, and constant tension in my neck due to torticollis. i'm hoping to make two points with all this: 1, gifmaking is not fucking easy. it's an arduous process of trial and error and combining a couple dozen overlapping different adjustments and you'll probably never be happy with the results. but also, 2, you don't know a gifmaker's circumstances. making gifs leaves me in pain and ticing worse and with eye strain and a tension headache, but i love doing it. nothing gives you the right to steal it, let alone mock me for being upset by it.

idk how to say this niceys but it's kind of heartbreaking and sad to see a lot of gifmakers here giving up on chasing people down because their work is often dismissed as "easy", "not that deep", or "not important". i would say about 50% of reposting comes from ignorance and other 50% comes from just pure disrespect of the gifmakers ppl are stealing from. and yet half these people can't even jump over the first hurdle of gifmaking which is sourcing clips. it's genuinely insane to me. gifmaking is just as derivative of any other art making form in fandom. if people were stealing art or writing on other platforms we would begin the killings. but the way people make colouring so natural and easy gets so lost to people that they lose sight that there was a person who made it that way.

[forthechubbies]

What's Wrong With Secretary Park?!

Synopsis• If balancing work and a stubborn ex-husband isn't hard enough, Let's add the boss’s seven sons falling head over heels for her to mix.

Category's• Romcon, Comedy, Office Au.

Duos• BTS X Reader

A spin-off of the original series ‘ What's Wrong With Secretary Kim’ Bangtan Edition! Starring the Handsome, Seo-Joon Park as the Ex husband.

There will be more parts but I didn’t want the title to be to long.

EP. One Two

“ Mrs. Park, Good Morning!”

“Mrs. Park, What does my schedule look like today?”

“Mrs. Park, Your coffee keeps me alive.”

In case you haven’t noticed, Park Yn, I’m the secretary to Jeon Sung-ho, the CEO of Dnd Parmatech, 85 percent of the time, newly build hospitals or centers use our funds as kickstarts. Daily I make schedules, appointments, filing documents, answering calls, and blah blah blah.

Is it boring? Yes, I know. However, quite refreshing coming from my hectic marriage. Once upon a time, I was wedded to the marvelous actor Park Seo-Joon for three years. I sat in the limelight and even had the privilege to play the part of his wife in movies. Sigh. Although the attention and riches were grand, no amount of expensive counseling could save our marriage. We never saw eye to eye on anything, and his short temper wasn’t helping.

Knowing my worth, I packed up and left without a doubt in my head. However, The documentation of our separation wasn’t finalized due to a certain one refusing to sign off on the divorce agreement. So physically, I’m still Mrs. Park but ain’t no piece of paper telling who I belong too.

Whatever! I have too much to focus on already! Game on, Game on! First, I got to get these papers approved and signed by Mr. Jeon then-

Buzz Buzz Buzz!

Who’s calling-

Speak of the devil. I could have sworn I deleted his contact a long time ago! “ What Seo-Joon? I’m busy-“

“ When is this little temper tantrum going to end? Darling, I think you made your point.”

“My point?! Listen here, You slimy son of-” Now, Now Yn calm down calm down don’t let him get a rise out you that just what he wants. A quick exhale should do the trick. “ Seo-Joon, I believe we reached an agreed on no type of communication unless it revolves around the settlement for the divorce.”

How is it possible I can physically see his snarky face?

Seo-Joon stretched out his list of complaints.” It’s been over a year. I miss your kisses, soft skin, that cute birthmark on your-“

“ You will not talk about such embarrassing things over the phone!” Thank goodness, Nobody was around to hear me shot like that.

“Why is this divorce still an issue?!” There goes that temper again-How whinny can one man be? “ If you don’t stop this, I will take matters into my own hands.”

I laughed. “ Ha, Seo-jerk, I’m not scared of you! Do your worst because It doesn’t matter if you drag me back home; it doesn’t subside the problem being over our marriage.” I feel like a broken record at this point. “ If this isn’t about the papers, this conversation is over, Mr. Park; please refrain from calling me again, goodbye.”

He chuckled and mumbled something along the lines of, “ Your cute acting cheeky like this.” The rest he continued louder “ Those delicate hands of yours were made to indulge in the finest silk and satin I can obtain, not working nine to five at whatever job hired a housewife with zero work ethic. I just know I haven’t touched your side of the room since that night- I love you, Mrs.Park, I always will.”

He hung up. You know, after he finished insulting my new lifestyle and calling me a useless housewife, the ‘ I love you’ bit at the end sounds sincere, but he is an actor! Of course.

Hmph! Just because I’m working for myself for one doesn’t mean I’m miserable. I’m actually in love with my job, It pays well with benefits, and I sat on my butt all day. If that pompous little bedazzled turd thinks making me the butt of his jokes will get me back in his arms, he has another thing coming!

“Um, Mrs. Park?”

“ What!” I snapped. “ Oh, Hoseok, I’m sorry!” I bowed my head; the poor thing nearly jumped out of his shoes.

Hoseok beamed his warm heart-shaped smile at me. “ Oppa is having a family meeting today; I guess I’m the first to show.”

I wasn’t informed about a meeting today from Mr.Jeon, maybe because it’s a family affair.

“Tada!” He cutely squeaks. A tasteful package breakfast alongside a tall cup of what I presume is a coffee from..’ Thanks Nature’!

“Oh my- Hobi, this cafe is across town-”

“I overhead Oppa scolding you for skipping meals one day and I’m here to do the same, don’t skip meals or else We will be hurt if something happens to you.” Hoseok pointed at the pack. “ Eat every bit.”

Hoseok displayed a small heart using his index finger and thumb, hopping off to his father’s double doors.

Mr. Jeon has seven sons in all. The man is a true saint; men like him and his sons are why I still believe not all men are dogs. After losing his wife to heart cancer, He just about went bankrupt, donating all he had to have found cures to multiple diseases hoping nobody else had to suffer his same heartbreak.

Love found him again in an orphanage just north of here, ‘Seoul Children Home.’ His first son, Kim Seokjin, at the time Jin was already in his teenage years, making it difficult for him to find a family due to the high demand of couples wanting a single-digit child. His birth family mistreated him, but he was beaten everywhere except his face to keep his handsome appearance. The family decided to put his money-maker to fair use and attempted to sell him. Seokjin saw his opportunity and high-tailed, landing himself in the orphanage where he happily lends a helping hand every chance he got. He learned how to read, write, cook, clean, and even tend to the tots when the nuns were busy.

This is how he met his slightly younger brothers, Min Yoongi, Jung Hoseok, and Kim Namjoon; when being chosen for adoption, Seokjin refused to live without his baby brothers by his side.

“ Hello, Noona!”

Oh, Look just in time, “ Hello, You’re father is in his office.”

Namjoon eyed my edible gift from Hobi and raised his eyebrow as well as a question. “ So this is why Hyung left so early in the morning for-and I hope you’re having a good morning, Noona.”

I’m not older than them. Why do they call me Noona? Do I look old!?

“ Yn, Good morning! How are you!” Jin greeted me with English this morning. He must have been practicing with Namjoon lately.

“ I’m Fine. Seokjin.”

“Chu.” He blew a kiss my way. “ You’re not fine. You’re amazeing.”

“Amazing.” Namjoon corrected for the sidelines.

“Same thing.”

“Pronunciation is everything, Hyung.”

They stopped halfway from their dad’s office. Jin grinned. Wait, I know that smile; oh no, here comes a dad joke.

“ Hey, Namjoon-You know the reason I took the elevator instead of the stairs?”

Namjoon sighed. “ No, why?”

"I don't trust stairs. They're always up to something." Jin burst out laughing and clapped his hands.

I giggled not from the joke, but Jin has a contagious laugh.

“See, Yn has good taste.”

A slow deep groan entered the office belonging to Yoongi, lagging. “ I heard that terrible joke from the elevator.” Yoongi waved and leaned against my desk. “ Good Morning.”

“Good Morning.”

There was an awkward pause before Yoongi tapped my desk and pointed to his dad’s office from walking that way.

“Yoon-Yoongi!?”

He turned back towards me.

“ I have something for you. I packed it up on the way here.” Getting off my butt, I walked up and gave him a bottle of his favorite black ice coffee. Ew. I don’t know how he drinks it with no cream or sugar.

Yoongi smiled his gummy smile. “ Thank you for thinking of me.”

“You’re welcome.” And off he goes into the office as well.

Yoongi isn’t the biggest fan of human interaction, but he put forth an endeavor towards me, whether it’s a light ‘ Hi or Hello” or the simplicity of a wave. I admire his gusto. Sidenote, He’s so adorable-I know I know I shouldn’t be gushing over my boss’s son, but his chubby cheeks and almond eyes melt my heart like butter on toast!

Ahem-I better get back to answering those emails and drink this beautiful cup of expensive mud before it gets lukewarm. Yummy, The delectable taste is a boost of serotonin! I really should get to work buuut Hobi did command me to get every last bit and technically he is my boss through some type of weird relative aspect. He is the boss.

Just in a moment of seconds, The breakfast and drink was trash. Something that good should be sinful. I feel terrible I should have saved some for the babies; they would have some, especially Jungkook.

The babies should be here any minute.

[homerforsure]

Whumptober No. 5

betrayal / misunderstanding / broken nose

(Hockey AU)

***

He’d always thought the night Jay took the picture would be the worst of it.

Buck’s hands were clutching the rails of Jay’s iron headboard, where Jay had wanted them, where Jay had placed them after stripping Buck of his clothes, saying “Don’t let go.” His slow, sexy, predatory smile was the last thing Buck saw before the silky black blindfold was tied in place. Jay was gone after that, climbing off the bed, telling Buck how good he looked and what he thought he might do and Buck had arched into the words until he was begging to be touched.

“Be patient,” Jay had purred, appeasing Buck with a single finger drawn shiveringly down his thigh. Buck could feel that he’d climbed back onto the bed, but Jay was too far away and he wasn’t teasing; he just wasn’t there. Stretching out longer on the mattress, trying to find him, he’d said, “What’s going on up there?”

Then the flash went off, the bright light cutting through the thin fabric of the blindfold. Jay swore, “Shit. Fuck,” and when Buck let go of the bed with one hand (one hand because maybe he misunderstood, maybe it was fine, maybe he’d laugh and put his hand back and they’d-)to push the tie away, he’d seen Jay, crouched above him with his phone in his hand.

If he’d asked, Buck might even have agreed. He liked posing. He liked having his body appreciated. But Jay’s expression was the alarm of being caught red-handed and Buck knew, knew with a sinking feeling of dread and betrayal, that Jay wasn’t just taking a memento to savor later. He was taking a picture of Rangers center Evan Buckley, naked, smirking, and vulnerable, to use exactly the way those kinds of pictures get used.

Buck forced Jay to delete the photo, made him prove that he’d done it, and then had somehow managed to get himself dressed and down to the street to get a ride without throwing up. His face burned the whole drive home and for half of the night.

And that was the worst of it until five years later. In a new city. When Buck was finally playing the way he’d always known he could. When he was finally earning the respect of his team and the hockey world at large. When he started thinking he might stay. That was when the anonymously authored post was retweeted and reblogged and shared and gleefully discussed on all corners of the hockey internet.

MY WILD NIGHT WITH AN NHL ALL STAR

The Good, the Bad, and the Kinky

His agent’s was the first text he saw when he got done with practice: “Do NOT respond yet. Call me first.”

It had taken another couple messages before Buck realized what he wasn’t supposed to respond to and in the meantime, the texts kept rolling in. Half of them from numbers he didn’t even have saved in his contacts.

“Dude, is that shit true?”

“Are you okay?”

“Do you know who it is?”

“You dog 😜”

“You never told me you were into that 👀”

“Ignore it, Buck.”

“We’re all with you.”

“Fuck that guy.”

“Hey if you need something to take your mind off of it💋💋💋”

“Evan, Mike from the Tribune. If you want to set the record straight, please give me a call.”

From the looks on the faces of his teammates as they tried to pretend they weren’t stealing glances at him, they were getting messages of their own. Hen was the first one to start to approach him with a look of concern, but Buck avoided her, grabbing his bag and sneaking out the door without bothering to hit the stationary bike like usual.

“What the hell did you do to piss this guy off?” Geoff said as soon as he answered Buck’s call. “More importantly, what else does he have on you?”

“Nothing!” Buck answered, nearly merging directly into another car as his hands shook on the steering wheel. “What do I do? How do I fix this?”

“I don’t know, Buckley. None of my other clients get up to shit like this. You need to get yourself a publicist. I’m going to get in touch with Grant and make sure they’re not already shopping you.”

His agent hung up and Buck’s phone continued to buzz and chime all the way back to his apartment.

There were cameras outside which there almost never were. Mostly only hockey fans cared about pictures of hockey players and the press was limited to the arena and their official events. Maybe one or two regular guys who Buck knew by name. It was just his luck that he lived in LA where there were almost more cameras than there were disasters to photograph.

“Buck! Do you know who the author is?”

“Have your teammates seen the post?”

“Are you worried about other former partners coming out with similar stories?”

Buck pushed past them, but the questions followed him inside. His phone didn’t stop. His mentions were a nightmare on every platform. He shut Twitter as soon as he opened it and saw his name in the trending topics. The statements put out by the Kings and Buck’s agent condemning the piece and the interest in it were drowned out by outlet after outlet picking up the post and sharing it out wider and wider.

Can you guess this NHL player by his sexcapades? (Hint: It’s exactly who you think)

Hockey players used to be the humble, hard working gentleman of sports. What happened?

Should the Kings trade Evan Buckley? Can they?

Nash should make Buckley sit for embarrassing the team like this.

Aw, man, don’t do that. Sitting’s a little tough for Buckley right now

🤣

And I thought it couldn’t get worse than the time he fucked that mascot in Carolina

{This post may contain explicit content}

😵‍💫

🤮

Excuse you, Gritty has standards

[98 more posts]

Whether from a latent masochistic streak or just because he didn’t want to look away and find that the story had gotten bigger while he was gone, Buck couldn’t stop refreshing the pages. He read Jay’s words over and over again as his stomach roiled. If it had all been lies, Buck wouldn’t have spent the morning pressed into the corner of his couch, hoodie pulled up over his head like armor. If it had all been lies, he could have made a fiery statement, condemning the mystery author and condemning everyone who thought they had a right to consume and critique another person’s sex life.

There were some lies, of course, but it was true enough that Buck’s heart clenched with it. True enough that he could remember how he felt when it was happening, during the three times they’d been together before the photo. Soft and desired and joyful. There was a part of him that was still exposed to Jay, that always would be, this man with the sharp wit and the sharp smile who got Buck bare, begging and biddable all to make him a joke. As he read the smug asides in the unforgiving narrative, he could hear Jay’s voice in his ear.

The sixth time he read it, there was an addition.

Edit: Ha ha wow this really blew up. Doing an AMA at 6 eastern if you’re looking for more dirty details.

And for the first time, Buck felt the burn of tears in his eyes. Furious. Powerless.

The buzz of his phone started making his skin crawl so he shoved it between the couch cushions and tried not to think about it. He sat with his knees pulled up to his chest and his arms wrapped tightly around, rocking just a little as he felt panic creeping in.

What else could Jay possibly have to say? Would he make up more and more audacious lies as long as he had an audience? Would an NHL team want to touch Buck when he was done?

Were there more pictures?

It was the fourth night, the night that Buck caught Jay. Not the first night with the blindfold. What if? Buck shuddered, sinking lower, deeper into the couch, folding himself tighter and smaller, trying to crush the mounting, hopeless fear. He was there for a long time.

When the gentle knock hit his door, Buck jumped and then crouched tighter into his ball. He didn’t answer. There was no one he could face right now.

The knock came again.

Then the door opened.

Buck was up like a shot, nearly falling over the coffee table as he whirled around toward the intruder. Eddie stood in the doorway, holding up one empty hand and pulling his key out of the door with the other.

“Just me.”

“What are you doing here?” Buck asked, shoving his hands into the pocket of his hoodie to hide the fact that he’d been digging his nails into his palms for the last hour.

“Well, you took off. And you weren’t answering your phone.”

Hot shame flushed across Buck’s skin. Eddie knew. Eddie had seen the article and the articles about the article and the tweets about the articles and been shouted at by the cameras outside and Buck wanted to sink into the floor.

“Notice you didn’t take the hint.”

The attitude in Buck’s response didn’t faze Eddie at all, “Do I ever?”

And that almost made Buck feel like smiling, because no, no he didn’t. He said, “No. But there’s always a first time.”

Eddie came a little further into the apartment and Buck felt crowded. Eddie always seemed to take up so much space around him. Maybe it was just that Buck felt his presence most strongly than anyone else’s. Especially when he was like this: arms crossed, focused, not letting Buck wiggle out of a conversation that he didn’t want to have.

This time was no exception. When Buck turned and went back to the couch, compulsively refreshing the comments on Jay’s post again as he went, Eddie followed right after him.

“I came by to make sure you were okay,” he said and Buck flinched again, hating that Eddie knew. Hating that the team knew.

“I’m fine,” he answered, keeping his eyes down and away from Eddie. “Coach is going to rip me a new one tomorrow, but my agent hasn’t called me to tell me I’m being traded so yet so I guess that’s-”

“Who the fuck said you were being traded?” His voice was loud enough that Buck looked up, surprised to see the intensity of anger in Eddie’s face.

“THN. NHL Network did a round table on it too, but they didn’t think anyone would take me. Oh, then Kirk Davis did a radio interview.”

Everyone had picked up those soundbites. Even through the heavily bleeped broadcast, the future hall-of-famer’s opinion on Buck had been crystal clear. At least that wasn’t new information for Buck. Davis had all but refused to shake Buck’s hand when he first joined the Predators and was a big part of why his tenure there had only lasted until the trade deadline.

“Kirk Davis is a fucking asshole. There’s a reason they never made him captain.”

“He’s not the only one who said it.”

“Then he’s not the only fucking asshole out there.” When he didn’t respond, Eddie came around the couch to stand face to face with him, noticing the open comments page as he did. “Christ, have you been reading that shit all day?”

Somehow it made Buck laugh. “It’s the same shit I’ve been reading for 8 years. Since I got drafted. Buckley’s a distraction to his team. Buckley’s an embarrassment to the game of hockey. Buckley cares more about getting laid and partying than he does about winning. It’s guys like Buckley that hurt the NHL.”

His voice pitched up as he recited the familiar accusations, staring somewhere over Eddie’s shoulder because Eddie already knew all this about him. Eddie was the opposite of Buck in every way. He would never make himself the center of attention. He’d never do anything to make his teammates ashamed to play with him. He’d never be so stupid as to go home with a guy like Jay.

“Buckley’s finally getting what he deserves.” Buck whispered.

“Look at me,” Eddie said. When Buck couldn’t, Eddie reached out, setting a light hand on his shoulder that got tighter when Buck tried to shrug out of the hold. “Hey. Look at me.”

He moved his head into the space where Buck was staring into the middle distance and waited. Until Buck couldn’t help but flick his gaze to meet Eddie’s. Once he did, he found a furious compassion that startled him.

“You don’t deserve this, Buck. You did nothing to deserve this. It is not your fault. Nobody in our room thinks it is. Bobby doesn’t think it is.”

Buck shuddered under the weight of the words. He wanted to pull himself free and he wanted to step in closer, “My agent told me I should own it. Post a couple thirst traps and a middle finger on instagram and just wave it off like another classic Evan Buckley weekend.”

There was a time when he would have. Times when he had. But this wasn’t a ridiculous paparazzi photo outside a bar, it was… It was private. It hurt.

As if reading his mind, Eddie said, “That’s not what this is. Fire him if he wants to make you pretend this is okay.”

“I just keep thinking if I was anyone else. If I was someone good, they’d all go after him and not me. I didn’t even do anything to him, Eddie. I didn’t-”

Before he could finish his sentence, Eddie tugged him forward and his arms were tight around his back. Buck should have tried to fight it, but he couldn’t help but fall against his chest and cling on. “You are someone good,” Eddie said, making Buck’s breath hitch. “And if you weren’t, it wouldn’t matter. It’s wrong. They’re wrong.”

“I shouldn’t have trusted him,” Buck confessed into the soft fabric of Eddie’s shirt. “I was so stupid back then. I just wanted- I wanted him to like me. And I’m still- It still hurts that he didn’t. How fucked up is that? He did this. And I still just wish he liked me.”

One of Eddie’s hands moved up to cradle the back of Buck’s head. They were swaying, just a little, Eddie rocking them gently. “I know,” he said. “I’m so sorry.”

He managed to keep from crying, but Buck couldn’t stop his breath from coming out in soft, stuttering gasps. Couldn’t keep his fingers from digging into Eddie’s back. If he thought about it, he could imagine this post too (Evan Buckley cried like a baby on my shoulder AMA), but Eddie would never do that. The warm heat of him against Buck’s chest was like a blanket hiding him from the world. It was the most vulnerable he’d been all day and the most sheltered.

Eddie didn’t let go until Buck pulled back and even then he didn’t go far, “Have you eaten since practice?”

“I didn’t think I’d be able to without throwing up,” Buck said honestly.

“Do you want to order something from-”

The timer on Buck’s laptop shrieked and they both jumped. Eddie recovered quickly, but Buck’s heart leapt into his throat. He’d almost forgotten. How could he have forgotten? Pulling away from Eddie, he turned off the timer and refreshed the post, looking for the link he knew would be there.

“Come on, Buck, really?”

Eddie reached out to slam the laptop closed, but Buck shoved his hand in the way. “I have to, Eddie. He’s doing an AMA. I have to-”

“I’m not going to let you torture yourself reading what a bunch of sick assholes have to say, Buck. No way.”

“I have to.”

“No, you-”

“Yes, I do!” He shouted it, standing up to look Eddie in the eye. “I have to read it. I have to see it now because if- if- if I wait and it gets reposted- I have to know if he has- I have to-”

“Buck,” Eddie said, putting his hands on Buck’s arms, trying to rub calmness back into him even as Buck’s heart-rate accelerated. “What does he have? What could be worse than what he already-”

“Pictures,” Buck yelled. “I have to know if he has pictures.”

A dark, dark look came over Eddie’s face and he stopped rubbing Buck’s arms to squeeze instead. “You think he has pictures?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” Buck whimpered. He saw himself as if from above, stretched out long and lewd against Jay’s sheets. He imagined ten thousand other people seeing it. “He took- I caught him taking one. Once. But I don't know if it was the only one. I don’t- I can’t let them get out. If he has them, I have to know. I have to report the post. I have to-”

“No,” Eddie said.

“Yes, Eddie. I have-”

“I hear you. Okay? I hear you, but I’m not letting you do that. I’m not letting you put any more of that garbage in your head.”

“Eddie.”

“I’ll do it. I’ll report every goddamn post.” Lifting one hand, Eddie stroked a thumb softly along Buck’s hairline. “Let me do it. Let me protect you.”

Buck swallowed hard, fear and relief and longing fighting for control of the tears that were building up again. He didn’t want Eddie to see any of that. He didn’t want Jay’s words in Eddie’s head. But Buck really really didn’t want them in his own. He wanted someone to protect him. “Thank you,” he said, falling forward again to rest his head on Eddie’s shoulder.

“I’ve got you,” Eddie replied, rubbing his hands firmly up Buck’s back.

Eddie wouldn’t let Buck sit on the couch while he monitored the thread. He fished Buck’s phone out of the couch and made him answer the important messages. From Maddie. From Bobby. From Hen and Chimney. Then he’d told him to order food from the Lebanese place they always ordered from when Eddie came over, asking for extra of the pickled turnips. All the while, Eddie’s fingers slammed onto the keyboard, that sound the only reaction he gave to any of the posts.

It should have been unbearable, letting Eddie comb through the messages. Even without seeing them, Buck knew what they were like. He blocked people every week for the same kind of thing. But Eddie had a defense against them that Buck never had: he didn’t believe they were true. Not even a little bit. He didn’t believe there was a chance that Buck was getting what he deserved for being a show off, for never being a points leader, for being open and soft hearted, for being himself. Eddie believed Buck deserved to be protected and he was ruthless about it.

“No pictures,” he said, a while later, when Jay had finally stopped replying to every comment on the page. “And the rest of it is… well. It’s nothing new.”

“Really?”

“Really. I think it’s done.”

Eddie closed the laptop as if by making that gesture of finality, he could make the words true. Buck, allowed back on his own couch, let himself believe it too. Let himself lean into the safety of Eddie’s arm over his shoulders, breathing in a deep sigh of relief as they caught the Canucks game.

The next morning, Jay’s story was hardly anywhere to be seen. It was replaced. By an essay in The Players’ Tribune. It excoriated Jay. It called out Kirk Davis by name and hundreds of online posters by their bad intentions. It praised Buck’s grace, tenacity, and backhand shot and it demanded respect and compassion and privacy from anyone who called themselves a hockey fan. And it wasn’t anonymous.

[jaceyneedsabetterusername]

Sex Tape

Pairings: Johnny Depp x Reader

Request: “ If you take requests, would you consider doing johnny reaction to like theirs sex tape getting leaked? Reader may also be a celebrity or not. Whatever you prefer “ - @fanficshitandother 

Warnings: Mentions of sex but no actual smut

Word Count: 1800

A/N: Sorry this one is so short. I was having a harder time writing it than I thought I would. I hope you enjoy!

__________________________________

Shit. 

You knew this was a bad idea when he suggested it but no. He just had to have this video “for when he was away filming.” It always ended like this, though, right? It always started out as fun and games until bam! Celebrity sex tape leaked! 

The gossip talk show video that your best friend had sent you was still playing on your phone and you watched in silent horror as the red haired woman talked about your sex life to her male counterpart as if she had any actual right to have an opinion. In the top corner was a picture of you and Johnny at the red carpet for the premier of the Crimes of Grindelwald, his arm around your waist and both of you smiling for the paparazzi pictures. “Okay, guys. You are going to want to hear this,” She started, clasping her absurdly long acrylic-clad fingers together and holding onto her knees, “So there has been yet another sex tape leaked and I want you to guess who’s it is.” She looked over to her co-host. He had a push broom mustache that was bleached blonde to match his hair. 

The man hummed before waving his hand, which also donned long yellow acrylics, “I swear, Laurel, if this is another Kardashian or Paris Hilton tape, I’m gonna scream. That’s such old news.” 

“Actually, it’s someone that I certainly didn’t expect. Johnny Depp and his wife, Y/N L/N.” She dropped the news and the co-star’s mouth dropped. 

“Are you serious? Like Jack Sparrow, Sweeney Todd, Willy Wonka, Johnny Depp?” He asked in total shock, “I didn’t expect that either! But you know what? I feel like he’d be really good in bed.” 

He and Laurel both laughed, “You’re so bad!” She squealed, hitting him with the paper notes in her hand, “But, between you and me,” She leaned in, as if she was telling an actual secret that wasn’t being broadcast on the internet, “I did see it.” 

“And?” 

“It was pretty hot, I can’t lie. That Y/N is a very lucky girl indeed.” The pair giggled like a pair of school girls. 

You were absolutely mortified. How did this happen? How many people had seen it? Who had seen it? Oh God… all you could imagine was your family stumbling across the video or, debatably worse, Johnny’s kids. This had to be one of the worst moments of your life. 

You turned off the video and quickly dialed your husband. “Hello, love.” He greeted cheerily on the other end. The faint sound of cars passing in the background told you he was probably driving home from the meeting he had been at. 

“Did you see it? Did you hear it?” You asked frantically. 

“What?” He asked, confused.

“The video! The video got leaked!” You ran your fingers through your hair messily, sliding down the wall to sit on the floor. 

“What video?” He questioned, not sounding like he fully understood what had happened, but then you could almost feel the weight of realization falling on him, “Wait, our video?” 

“Yes! Our video!” You were yelling at this point, not at him but at the situation and thankfully he understood that. 

“Okay, okay. We’ll- Hang on my manager is calling. Probably to tell me about it. I’ll be home in five minutes. I love you.” He signed off your call quickly before hanging up without giving you the chance to respond. 

While you waited for him to get there, you spiraled down the rabbit hole that was the tabloids and social media. Your phone buzzed off the charts as everyone from your sister to Helena Bonham Carter called you to ask if you were okay. Of course, you weren’t. But it was one phone call from a former college roommate, Sheila, had really gotten your blood boiling. 

“It’s okay! If anything, this is just going to make you more famous! Look at all the other celebs who’ve had their sex tapes leaked. They’re like, super famous.” Sheila sounded more excited than she should have, which certainly made you question her motives behind calling you in the first place. Since marrying Johnny, you’d had the unfortunate displeasure of having to cut a few people off from your past who had randomly called you up after years of little to no contact, asking more favors in the movie industry, money, or even just for the clout of saying they knew you. There really was such a downside to this whole marrying famous person thing that nobody ever really talked about - not that you would take it back, though, of course. You loved Johnny more than anything. 

Still, when the words left her mouth, you felt a flash of anger swell up, “Contrary to what a lot of people might believe, being famous actually kind of sucks,” You spat angrily, “And call me crazy, but I don’t exactly feel thrilled at knowing the whole world as access to a video of my naked ass!” 

“At least it’s a good naked ass, though! Your boobs are looking pretty good too. Did you get them done?” She asked bluntly, still not a care to be heard in her voice. You swore you could almost detect a fake valley girl accent too. 

Your mouth dropped open in disbelief at the words coming from her voice, “I can’t believe you.” Without giving her a chance to respond, you clicked the off button before flipping her off through the screen, though you knew she couldn’t see it. The audacity of some people. 

The front door swung open, drawing your attention as Johnny hurried into the house, setting his bag down by the front door. “How bad is it?” You asked, knowing his manager must have told him the full extent. 

“Do you want the truth?” Johnny saw as panic and humiliation swept across your face, knowing that perhaps that wasn’t the best way to break it to you that it was pretty bad. He stepped forward and wrapped you in his arms, “I told Harrison to take ‘em down. Whenever he found one, he said he’d get it deleted. 

You sighed defeatedly, “That doesn’t stop the fact that a bunch of people already saw it.” Your arms wrapped around Johnny’s torso and you allowed your head to fall against his chest, trying to calm yourself with his scent- exotic spicy cologne and old books. 

His large hand came to stroke through your hair, “That is true,” He conceded with a heavy breath, “But, it also means that fewer and fewer people will continue to see it.” There was a pause in which neither of you said anything, only took a few minutes to hold onto each other while you thought about the future now, “Y’know, I can’t help but feel like this is partly my fault. I shouldn’t have asked to make the video. I’m sorry, Y/N.” 

You shook your head in disagreement, “I agreed to do it too. It’s on both of us. In retrospect, we should have put it on an actual VHS tape or something that would be more difficult to get into the tabloid’s hands.” 

You were tired of this - of this constant running from the vultures that prayed off your every misstep just to turn them against you and create headlining stories. You felt like you couldn’t even breathe without a scandal unless the media allowed it. You were just grateful that you happened to marry one of the most private actors in Hollywood, knowing that whatever pressure you felt, more public figures like Angelina Jolie had it much worse. Still, something inside you stirred, a decision that you’d stop living in fear. 

Johnny pulled back and gave you that infamous cocked eyebrow look of wonder, one that you’d mostly seen him use as Jack Sparrow. Little did everyone know, it was a gesture he’d picked up on doing in real life as well. “Do we even have a VHS player anymore?” 

You chuckled and buried your head back into his white shirt, “I don’t even know. I feel like there must be one laying around somewhere. And if not, I’ll go down to a pawn shop and pick one up just for you to use while filming.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“I mean,” You leaned back, pulling on his shirt to bring him down closer to your level, “That if we’re going to be making you another one of these videos, it’s gonna be on something that stays only between us.” 

Your husband nearly choked on air, “Another one? After what just happened?” 

“Only if you want to and only if it stays on something physical like a CD or VHS that we can mutually agree to burn and destroy if anything happens.” You giggled and Johnny joined in with a low chuckle as well, “But… the video was leaked. We knew that was a risk when we made it. But, y’know what? I’m tired of living in fear of the paparazzi and public. They’ve already seen us fuck. There’s not much else we’ve got to lose.” 

His dark eyes flashed with mischief before he took off in a light jog down the hall without a word. You followed him, “Where are you going?” You giggled, turning the corner to find him digging through your little Harry Potter closet under the stairs. 

When he stood up, he shook his long hair out of his eyes messily and held up an old tape recorder that had to be at least twenty years old. Johnny swayed towards you, jokingly flirtatious as he spoke, “Well, Mrs. Depp, it would seem that you’re in luck because your husband likes to hoard old shit.” 

The grey and black machine seemed to stare at you and some hesitation set in again but then you remembered what you’d said: I’m tired of living in fear… there’s not much else we’ve got to lose. 

Johnny flicked open the side compartment and his eyes opened in surprise to find a tape still in there. He lifted it from the slide and looked it over, shocked to see that it appeared to be an unused blank tape, “Well, well, looks like we’re in luck.” 

Biting your lip, you looked up at him with those eyes before grabbing his hand and running upstairs to your bedroom, dragging him along. “The world thinks they’ve seen us fuck. They only got a preview.” 

“Only a preview? I thought we went pretty hard last time?” He countered with a low challenging laugh.

You turned around at the top of the stairs, one hand on the banister as you turned to face him. His body collided with yours, his hand reaching around the small of your back to steady the two of you and you arched your body into his, being sure to brush your body against his groin, “Oh, Johnny… we’re both throwing our backs out tonight.” 

[waheelawhisperer]

Okay here's a list, ranging from minor nitpicks to broader changes

Change the number of times Kazdel's been razed - as per Chapter 12, the Teekaz homeland has been destroyed something like 3,400 times in the span of recorded history. That averages out to one obliteration every five years... over a period longer than humanity in the real world has developed agriculture. It violates my suspension of disbelief to assume that Kazdel/the Sarkaz have anywhere near as much of a coherent national/cultural identity as they're shown to possess in the story, even with the long lifespans and racial memory some races of Teekaz have going in. I can't take it seriously. It goes from a sober illustration of the depths of Sarkaz oppression to just being funny. Like seriously? The shortest Kazdel ever stood was three days? Why did anyone ever bother rebuilding it lmao (I'm not even getting into how rapid cultural genocide via assimilation has been demonstrated to work in reality like idk it doesn't feel believable to me that Sarkaz culture would endure for 13k+ years of everyone trying to stamp it out)

Delete Mark Max - I hate this fucking thing and its introduction makes the setting so bleak that I almost dropped the game, especially coming on the heels of the newest installation of the Victoria arc's fumbling attempts to remind us all that War Is Bad and combined with all my other issues with the writing. Frankly, my issues with Mark Max deserve their own post.

Have Talulah find a way to kill Kashchey permanently so I never have to listen to his stupid ass monologue ever again

Put Rhodes Island on the right side of a conflict for once - so far across two main story arcs we have: assisted cops who answer to a guy who was willing to commit genocide against an oppressed minority to make his political allies happy in putting down a revolution by those same oppressed minorities, fought alongside a military unit that serves an imperialist empire and dirty bombed civilians (most of which were oppressed minorities) against the only group advocating for those same oppressed minorities, and tried to restore the heir to the throne of that same empire while fighting against the group of oppressed minorities that got dirty bombed and also the setting's Jewish analogue, a faction which has been brutally repressed and colonized for at least 13,000 years. Yes, I'm aware that the writing justifies our alignment against the enemy groups by having Kashchey subvert Reunion from within, making Dublinn brutally violent against even the Tarans they supposedly protect, and portraying the Military Commission as willing to use the Shard to cause Catastrophes all across Terra, but the question is... why? Why did the writers choose to go this route? I could write off one instance as an attempt to tell a story about well-meaning movements being subverted by those who would use them for evil ends or about the way hatred and resentment corrupt and corrode, but they've done this 2.5 times now. It's becoming a trend, and that doesn't suggest good things about the stance the writing is taking. Like idk man if every step the supposedly-heroic faction takes in the main story is done with the goal of preserving the status quo that indicates to me that the writing is presenting that status quo as a good thing.

Make nations other than Iberia have actual coastlines - it has always felt bizarre to me that every nation besides Iberia is entirely landlocked. It also makes Iberia's fleet seem pointless because what other maritime nations even existed for it to fight? Apparently it won a victory over Victoria somehow, but where the hell does Victoria's coastline even lie? Tf?

Find some way to trim the setting down a bit and figure out which core threads of lore deserve focus - right now there is an absolute shitton of plot threads/lore hooks/whatever you want to call them running around and precisely none of them get adequate focus. We learn more about any given one of them once a year if we're lucky. I understand that character bloat and extending the story as long as possible are a necessary part of the gacha model, but holy shit absolutely nothing seems likely to be resolved before I am in a nursing home. There are a million plotlines that make me want to say "either cut it or develop it properly" ffs

Make Laterano marginally less ridiculous. I don't know how a country where you can just blow shit up at will even functions.

Frankly I feel like the Victoria arc would need to be redone from scratch - there's so much about it I dislike that I can't solve it with a couple changes (another thing that probably deserves a special post)

Explicitly confirm the majority of the cast as mspec - this would make me happy and both reddit and tumblr seething mad, so I assume it requires no further explanation

There's probably more and I might add them as I think of them, but these are the things that bug me most at this specific moment

If you could change one Arknights lore detail that isn't related to Kal'tsit, what would it be and why? (Making sure to cut down the low hanging fruit :p)

I would make every character heterosexual

[filmflowersbangtan]

Dead of Night (preview)

pairing: gang member!jungkook x reader

genre: angst, fluff 

warnings: swearing | drug mention | gangs | in the full story, there will be violence, blood, fighting, threatening 

preview word count: 4k

you meet jungkook in a diner in the early morning where it’s just the two of you in the entire place. An interesting relationship ensues, and you find out he’s not who you thought he was. He’s a prominent member of the city’s most powerful gang, surrounded by danger and trouble. But you still want him.

--

author’s note: I sincerely apologize for being gone for so long and for not updating any of my fics. To everyone waiting on IMSWY pt. ii: I am so sorry for taking so long with it. It’s still in my WIPs, and I haven’t given up on it yet, but it is on the back burner right now since I have many other ideas bubbling up that I absolutely have to write or else they will probably internally set me aflame (lol). 

I will be deleting many of my fics soon. I will be keeping “Unbound,” “I Must Still Want You,” “Heartbreaker with a Heart of Gold,” and “Lonely Planets.” Everything else I will be deleting because I have no desire to finish working on them or I simply do not like them anymore and can’t see them going anywhere.

I also will probably not be writing anymore series. Everything will most likely be one shot because every time I start a series, I get too overwhelmed with the idea of updating parts and finishing them that I just end up postponing them for too long and leaving too many people who have been looking forward to them disappointed. I do want to say that I have been going through So Much since I last posted Lonely Planets pt. ii and IMSWY, but I am in a so so so much better place now. That’s why I’m even writing this story now.

This will be a oneshot. It will not be a series. It will be very long. I am almost finished with it, but I am posting this preview just to see if you all would like to continue reading it.

Thank you all. I appreciate all the feedback and the follows and the reblogs so, so much. The feedback and the reblogs of Heartbreaker with a Heart of Gold is what really motivated me to write this one. I hope you all enjoy it. 😊

--

Being alone was like an addiction. It was fulfilling and appealing and…well, lonely. 

Two in the morning diner stops during the weekdays had become routine. The place was completely empty save for a waitress and a cook and maybe a tired trucker. You tucked yourself in a booth in the back. The vinyl seats were cracked and uncomfortable, the lighting was stark and washed everything raw. But it was comforting. Sleep was evasive and your apartment was barely unpacked, boxes stacked haphazardly in the dining area and the mattress on the living room floor. It was your idea to move to this vast city far away from home. This city swallowed everything in its incessant noise. Nocturnal and teeming with cars and neon lights. It never rested and the two of you had that in common. You took solace in that. 

The air was thick with bacon grease and bitter black coffee. Every morning you had waffles and orange juice. The refills were free and the waffles were the exact same circumference as the plate underneath it. Time was stagnant here. The city pressed against the plate glass windows, but the reflections from inside barred its entry. If you looked out, you simply stared directly at yourself. Maybe there was some kind of metaphor in that. 

The night shift waitress, Bethany, set your plate of steaming waffles on the table as well as a glass syrup dispenser. She knew you by name and you thanked her for the food. She smiled sweetly and left you be. 

The door chimed, denoting the entry of another patron. You didn’t look up. Bethany greeted the person in her cheerful customer service voice. You knew she didn’t actually sound like that. Once, you glimpsed her smoking a cigarette by the dumpster at the back of the diner arguing with her boyfriend on her cell phone. She had a tired voice. You wondered if she was lonely, too.

As you ate, Bethany took the patron’s order. From where you sat, his voice was a mumble. “You got it!” Bethany said before breezing away.

You glanced up from your food at the patron. Hair dyed blond, dark brown at the roots. He had a gentle face and a mouth made for smiling or furtively suppressing them. Tattoos were stippled on his arm all the way down to his knuckles. He was staring down at his phone, his fingers were slender and embellished with many silver rings. He was impossibly handsome. A paragon of beauty. 

And he looked up. Right at you. Why was it at that moment you happened to notice him, he decided to notice you, too?

Your scalp prickled with hot embarrassment. You immediately averted your eyes back to your waffles. There was only a bite remaining. Good. You could finish, get your check, pay, and leave.

Boldly, you chanced another glimpse. He did, too. This time, a smile, broad and lovely, stretched across his face. It was endearing and intimate and you had never felt so seen. It was exhilarating. A small smile crept onto your mouth. You couldn’t help it. His smile was contagious. 

This was how the following hour went. Weighted glances and secret smiles from across the room. He received his food, and he picked up his plate and mug of coffee and…was he coming this way?

You watched him, eyes wide, as he sauntered over to your booth and set his items on your table. “May I sit?” he said. His voice was the perfect match to his face. Smooth, sonorous, soft. Crushed velvet. 

Jerkily, like you had never done it before, you nodded. He sat. “Hi,” he said.

“Hi,” you replied. 

“I’m Jungkook.”

You told him your name. He repeated it once, twice, thrice. Like he enjoyed the feel of it in his mouth, rolling it around like a piece of hard candy he didn’t want to dissolve on his tongue just yet. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.” He reached his hand over the table. You smiled and shook it. 

His plate was piled with pancakes and sausages and scrambled eggs. He dug in. In between bites, he asked, “So what brings you here at this time of night?” “I have trouble sleeping. And you?” Your chest was tight with the awkwardness of it all, but he appeared to be perfectly at ease. 

“I’m just a night owl. Or I’m a vampire.” He shrugged nonchalantly as he continued eating.

Surprisingly, laughter bubbled from you until you couldn’t help the giggles that shook you. How long had it been since you had a conversation with anyone? Your store had been a drought for the past month, only a couple of people coming in a day. You didn’t call home because your parents would ask how you’ve been, and that topic lit a fire in your skull. Bethany was just a waitress doing her job. And Nora was always busy. It was refreshing to have someone sit with you. Talk with you. Want to be near you. 

His eyes danced at the sound of your laughter. It was an innocuous expression, boyish in how pure it was. 

You covered your mouth with your hands to mask the laughter. And he gently grabbed your wrist and removed them. “I like your laugh.”

Butterflies unfurled their wings in your stomach and fluttered in a frantic cluster. He resumed his meal as if nothing happened. “So what do you do?”

You cleared your throat. “I own a used book and record store downtown. It’s small and kind of hidden from the street, but it’s there.” You chuckled nervously. You were proud of that store, but you might have to close it down soon and return to your hometown with your tail tucked in between your legs if the revenue continued as it did. 

His eyebrows shot up. “Wow. That’s super cool. I like records. Books, not so much. Where is it located?”

You told him the address. “By that bodega on the corner.”

“The one that sells the really good blue raspberry shaved ice?”

You snapped your fingers. “That’s the one.”

“I’ll definitely have to stop by.” 

This was how the next few hours went. Talking about everything and nothing. He had lived in the city his entire life, worked as a freelance artist, had an apartment not too far away. Plates had been swept away by Bethany long ago. Refills poured, drained, and poured again.

And then, “Do you maybe want to get out of here? Kick it at my place?” Jungkook asked. His expression was open and genuine. 

You didn’t know if that was a good idea. But talking to him was stimulating and you didn’t want it to end. 

He noticed your hesitation. “Turn you location on your phone, I’ll even give you my address so you can send it to your friends. Anything to make you feel comfortable.”

He was right. He didn’t live that far. It was barely past five o’ clock in the morning, the city was still awake, billboards alight. The buildings towered, dark against the predawn blue of the sky. The apartment building was modest and typical of the city. Clean and affordable but just expensive enough to be appealing to a specific demographic of college students and those with decent enough jobs. His apartment was on the third floor and was charming with brick walls and high ceilings. There was a bookshelf packed with vinyl records, even more in milk crates. A record player in pristine condition sat on an end table beside an armchair. 

“Welcome to my humble abode,” Jungkook said, shrugging off his jacket and hanging it on a hook beside the front door. 

“You said you liked records,” you replied, browsing his collection. 

“I did.”

“This isn’t liking records. This is a goddamn treasure trove.” You pushed your hair behind your ear, eager to move it from your face. “Bowie, Billie Holiday, Bob Dylan, Prince. You even have a rare version of Hendrix’s Electric Ladyland. With the naked women! This is incredible.” 

He laughed. “I see you are a woman of taste.” 

“If only my dad could see this. I’m afraid to touch anything.” 

“I’m sure you don’t have clumsy hands with records. Since you have a record store and all.”

You laughed. “I appreciate the trust.”

“So what would you like to listen to?”

You mulled it over, taking your time examining the sleeves of the records. Then you found one.

He smiled when you showed him the cover art. “Perfect.” 

Frank Ocean’s Blond. A modern classic. Perfect for the liminal hour of five AM. 

Jungkook slipped it from its sleeve, fingers on the slim rounded edges of the record. He carefully settled it on the turntable, placed the needle on the disc, and played the album. There was the classic crackle of vinyl, and then the first track emanated. It was a phantasm of sound, rich and ethereal. Light but weighted. The song was the deep blue of the sky before the sun decided to pull itself above the horizon and emblazon the sky with its myriad of colors. It was the perfect song for this liquid moment that felt like a dream. This beautiful stranger standing before you with his incredible collection. 

And then you were in Jungkook’s arms, slowly swaying to the music. You smiled up at him and him down at you. 

The album continued on in the living room, serenading to no one. You and Jungkook had moved to the bedroom, lounging on the bed. The horizon blushed peach, casting the room in half-light. You both lay on your backs, him with an arm slung casually behind his head, you with your hands folded delicately on your stomach. 

“Thank you for paying for my meal today,” you said to him meekly. 

He smiled. “Thank you for the great conversation. And having an amazing taste in music.” 

You laughed. “What made you come sit with me anyway?”

That was when he looked at you, his mouth still slung in a smile, but his eyes sincere. “Because you’re beautiful.”

Your cheeks went hot and you giggled nervously, covering it with your hands. He rolled over and carefully removed them, his eyes on yours. For a brief moment, time was still. Your breath caught in your throat. He was so close. His lips were so close. Your noses were just barely brushing. His voice was husky when he said, “I like your laugh.”

And then he kissed you. 

In the living room, Frank Ocean sang about nights and new beginnings. 

In the bedroom, you and Jungkook were breathless. Hands on thighs. Hands in hair. Teeth on collarbones. It was a innocent hunger, one that never got too peckish. He was careful with you, didn’t dare to remove your clothes. “I like you,” he breathed into your neck. You gasped at the sensation. 

You kissed until you both eventually succumbed to sleep, the morning sun pouring drowsy golden light across the room.

It was well into the afternoon when you woke to the sound of a shower running. The room was unfamiliar. Definitely not your barren apartment with the boxes strewn about the place. And you definitely weren’t on your living room mattress tangled amongst its waves of sheets. The bed you were in was the most comfortable you’ve ever experienced. Brick walls, plants, beautiful abstract canvas paintings leaning against the wall. Then you remembered. 

The diner. The vinyl collection. The sunrise. The kiss. 

Jungkook. 

He was in the shower and you were fully dressed and the night had to have been a dream. But it wasn’t. Reality settled back onto your shoulders in agonizing waves. You were hours late opening the store. But oh, you wanted to burrow into these soft, sweet-smelling sheets and dissolve into nothing. Eventually you got up. 

The door to the bathroom was open. You thought about telling him you were leaving, but instead, you drew your name and number into the mirror steam and went home to shower and change yourself.

An entire week went by and he never called. He didn’t return to the diner, either. It hurt. Every time you lay on your side, willing yourself to sleep, the phantom feeling of his hands and lips barreled you at such an unwelcome rush you would gasp. None of it was real. You had to keep telling yourself that. None of it was real. 

Life went back to normal. Jungkook was a fleeting daydream that sifted in and out of your thoughts. The store still barely got any customers, except for the same two or three crate diggers who visited like ghosts. And then Nora, your best friend, breezed through the door. She was a city girl through and through. Large sunglasses, the omnipresent iced coffee, the expensive wardrobe curated specifically for being in front of a camera. She was partly why you moved here. The two of you were from the same hometown, and she had escaped first to chase the tail of a fashion designer career. 

“Move here!” she had said during a phone call. “You’ll love it. You’re super hipster and this city eats that shit up! And you can open up that record and book store you always dreamed of.” 

She wasn’t wrong. You loved this city but this city seemed to not love you back. Now, she pushed her sunglasses up into her hair and set her iced coffee on the counter top before you. You were sitting behind the register, feet up and reading a book when she had come in. You looked up from the paperback in your hands. “And what have I done to deserve your presence, Your Highness?”

“Good morning, dork! We’re going to a party.”

You kicked your feet down. Slipped a bookmark in the book and closed it. And you simply said, “No.”

She blinked, her smile stiff. “Why not?” 

“You know I have to open this place every single morning. I can’t go to a party and get drunk and miss another opening.”

“Stop making this store your entire life.”

“It is my entire life.”

“Well, live another one. Just for one night.” She clasped her hands together and actually pouted. “Please.”

You sighed. “You don’t have anyone else to go with?”

She perked up and tossed her hair over her shoulder. “Oh, I do. I just want you to go with me. I want you to have fun for once. All you’ve done since you been here was work.”

Every single dollar and penny from your savings went to this store. It was your lifelong dream. And Nora—lovely, naïve Nora—had never needed to work for anything a day in her life. She meant well. She was never intentionally ignorant. But that didn’t make it any less frustrating. 

She also didn’t know of your time with Jungkook. It was embarrassing that he never called. It angered you that he called you beautiful and said he liked you only for it all to be false. Thank goodness you didn’t have sex with him. 

“I’ll have fun once I’m a millionaire or something,” you said to Nora.

She huffed. “I can find you someone to cover the shop for the night. You won’t even have to pay them. Please just come with me.”

“No. What if they steal something.”

She stared at you flatly. “Do you really think any of my friends—my friends—would steal? Let alone steal any of this stuff? No offense.” 

“Why do you want me to go so badly?”

“I already said. Fun. You know, music, drinks, guys.” She sang the last word and accompanied it with a little shimmy. 

“I have plenty of music and I can buy my own drinks.”

She slammed her hand against the counter top, startling you. “Stop being fucking difficult and come have some fun with me.”

So, grudgingly, you went. Albeit late because you didn’t trust anyone else to close the shop for you, but you went nonetheless. Nora did your makeup. Just glitter eyeshadow and a little eyeliner because you insisted you didn’t want much. And she picked out your outfit—a black lace bra, a crop top cardigan, and a pair of white shorts. 

“Because I can’t dress myself?” you grumbled, sliding on the clothes. 

“Exactly that. You dress too…hipster-y. You need to be hot for tonight.” 

You hadn’t worn that bra since you dated Namjoon. He was pretentious and arrogant and such a city boy it made you lightheaded. You met when he waltzed into the store shortly after you moved here. He smiled at you and you practically melted. The books were what he came for. He bought a Russian classic novel and at checkout, he discussed with you the allegory of sharing fruit in literature. He was eloquent and intelligent and so damn gorgeous you fell for him in that same moment. He scribbled his number on the receipt and told you to keep it. 

The relationship lasted for four months. He suggested you move into his high rise apartment downtown with him. It was a modern edifice, all glass and steel and money. He was the wealthiest person you had ever met in your life. And, stupidly, you were in love. 

And then you saw his text messages with some unfairly beautiful girl he followed on social media about how good she looked in his bed . He said he was lonely, that you worked too much, what else was he supposed to do? Needless to say, you left him. And you hadn’t seen him since. 

Now, Nora said to you, “And don’t think about wearing those fucking platform boots.”

“Why not?” you said, frowning. “They’re cute.”

“They look ridiculous. Like those boots that one goth girl from that cartoon you like wore.” 

You grinned, mischievous. “That’s exactly why I bought them.”

To Nora’s dismay, you wore the fucking platform boots. 

The party was in an underground venue. It wasn’t all red wine and an elaborate excuse to brag about money, like the gatherings Namjoon liked, it was edgy. A live band played pop punk on a stage, the lights in the place were dim save for the spotlights and the white Christmas lights behind the bar. Greasy pizza and liquor and neon lights. You brushed elbows with someone smoking a joint, and you were pretty sure someone was doing coke in the bathroom. 

Nora pulled you to the bar where she ordered herself a cocktail and you a craft beer. She knew you so well. 

There were so many people here. You mentally kicked yourself for not bringing flyers for your store. 

And then you saw him. Nora was talking your ear off about how hot the frontman for the band was and you almost choked on your beer. 

“Are you fucking kidding me?” you spat.

Nora blinked rapidly. “What? What happened?”

“This is why you brought me here. You cunt.” You didn’t mean to call her that. It wasn’t a word worn with frequent use in your vocabulary. In fact, you hated the word. But it was deserved in this situation. 

Namjoon. He was standing near the stage with a craft beer of his own in his hand, bobbing his head to the music. He didn’t like places like this. They were tacky to him. He didn’t even listen to this genre of music. What the hell was he doing here? 

The girl standing next to him turned to him and smiled. She was wearing lipstick as red as murder and her bob was so black it reflected the lights with an envious luster. She had a septum piercing, the two silver balls glittering in the low light like two tiny stars. That’s when it clicked. He was here because of her. She was that unfairly beautiful girl in his text messages. Your skin felt incandescent. 

“He had to see how hot you are. I thought you would enjoy shoving that in his face.” Lovely, naïve Nora. You wanted to slap her. 

You stood from the bar stool and set your craft beer on the bar. “I’m leaving now.”

Her face was slack with regret. Before she could form an apology, you turned and walked away. 

You were a few moments from the door when you heard your name. It wasn’t Nora. You stopped and your breath hitched. Your turned slowly, preparing to see Namjoon with that girl by his side but instead—

“Jungkook?”

His hair was black now and almost as shiny as that girl’s bob. It hung past his ears in gentle waves. He stood there in a baggy black shirt and jeans, his thumbs tucked into the front pockets. Silver bracelets draped from both wrists. In this lighting, he looked ethereal. Infernal. This couldn’t be the same man you shared a chimerical morning with. He looked like he had been created by the darkness of the city’s nights. 

Maybe it was just the hair. 

“Hi,” he said in the same way he did when he sat your table at the diner. It could’ve been mistaken as sheepishness, but his eyes were not meek. Besides the hair, you couldn’t figure out what was so different about him. 

Breathlessly, you said, “Hi.”

“You look nice.” 

Over his shoulder, you noticed Namjoon go to the bar. Nora scowled at him. He smiled amicably at her and his mouth moved, saying something. She froze, and her eyes immediately darted to you. Namjoon turned and saw you. And he started your way. 

“Are you okay?” Jungkook asked.

You should’ve ran out of the venue. There were a million other things you should’ve done, but instead you grabbed Jungkook and kissed him. 

Initially, he went rigid with shock, but he melted into the kiss. You felt him smile against your mouth. “Miss me that much?”

You pulled away. “I did not.” A glance over his shoulder and Namjoon was gone. You audibly exhaled. 

“What happened?” 

You ran a hand over your face. “Ex.”

“Ah,” he said. “Is that why you were leaving?”

“Yes. And now I’m going. Goodbye.” You whirled around, shoulders tense with embarrassment and headed for the stairs. 

“Wait.” He caught up to you on the stairs. “Can I go with?” There were small white string lights strung in the stairwell and the glow reflected in his eyes. They were so brown. 

“Don’t you have friends to be with?” Your phone buzzed in your back pocket with an incoming text message. Most likely your own friend dying to know who the guy you just kissed was. You ignored it. 

“They’ll be fine.” He grinned. 

“Okay,” you said, feeling yourself smile as well.

There was no destination, but you ended up at a park, sitting beside each other on a swing set. Your feet dragged in the wood chips as you pushed yourself back and forth slowly. He looked up at the night sky and sighed. “Do you want to know why I hadn’t called?”

You just looked at him. 

“This may sound like a corny excuse, but… I was afraid of what you would think of me.”

Your eyebrows furrowed. “What do you mean?”

He hesitated before saying, “If we continued seeing each other, you would eventually find out that I’m not a freelance artist. I do paint, but that’s not what I do.”

You could feel your heartbeat gradually speeding its pace. “What do you do?” His eyes fell down to his hands. He turned them over, studying the lines in his palms. His hair slipped over his eyes. He was a portrait of affliction. “I’m a Lost Boy.”

You didn’t understand. He noticed your silence and looked up at you. “The Lost Boys. This city is practically run by them.” He corrected himself, “Ran by us.” He stopped, closed his eyes, and sighed. “I’m in a gang.”

Your voice was a whisper. “What?”  

He quickly added, “If you no longer want to associate with me, I understand. They’re—we’re—dangerous. I mean, even if you haven’t heard of us, you know us. The leather jackets, the vandalism, the fights. That venue is owned by us. The drugs at that event were supplied by us. That band playing is in our pockets. My apartment is paid by dirty money.” He laughed quietly to himself then, almost pityingly. 

The night air around you was thick with your own dread. “Is being around you dangerous?” You hadn’t meant for your voice to sound so small.

“I won’t hurt you, if that’s what you’re asking.” You could hear the unsaid “but” in his tone. 

“But what?” you prompted.

He chewed on his lip. A dimple in his left cheek appeared. “I won’t hurt you, but I can’t promise your safety. If you do decide to be around me.”

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